Unsought Shadows
by Luke Benz
Summary: AU: Near is a thirteen year old, out of place  socially, anyways  in High School, and is made the target for every kind of bullying that bored teenagers can dish out. But now, he is faced with an entirely new problem-he has recently aquired a stalker.
1. Of Introductions and Paint

**Hey guys, I'm Luke Benz. This is my first DN story, so I hope you guys like it. I'm sure later on in the story I'll have some huge monologue preceeding the chapter, but I don't have much else to say this time. ;-)**

**Disclaimer: Well I haven't seen any flying pigs, it's sunny out, so it can't be raining malted milk balls, and I don't believe Hell has frozen over yet, so I probably still don't own Death Note. **

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 1: Introductions and Paint<em>

School sucked, as usual.

Oh sorry. Was I being to forward? Maybe I should start with an introduction first. My name is Near. Well, it's really Nate, but no one ever calls me that. I live with my cousin L, who goes by…well, a bunch of other names. Because we're currently in America, he tells me to call him Elliot. I swear, his paranoia is going to kill him one day. But he insists that it would be just the opposite.

Anyways, I at the top of my class, which is already two grades ahead of where I should be. I'm thirteen and a freshman in high school. And I'll tell you right now. High School _sucks_.

If you've ever been in High School, you'd know that it's a shark tank. And I was the albino guppy. I mean, I'm barely five-two, and that's when I'm _not_ slouching. And if you remember, I'm at least two years younger than everyone else in my school. That combined with the fact that I'm basically a genius shrimp makes me a target in the shooting range.

It started with verbal bullying, which was pretty easy to shrug off. It got annoyingly difficult to ignore when kids would follow me around making "Moo" sounds. When I questioned them as to why, I was made _very_ aware of the fact that my skin, hair, and clothes were all stark white, which—didn't you know?—is the color of milk. My new goal of ignoring the insults was increased in challenge when I found notes in my school locker, gym locker, and on my desks. Most of them were drawings of cows or sheep being slaughtered, and some of them were threats.

Not long after the notes started coming, things got physical in the hallways. Kids shoved me as they passed, or took the time to yank on a lock of my hair, mocking the way I twirled it when I was deep in thought.

Today was no better, and actually worse, in a sense.

It was the end of the day, and I had just been walking out of the front doors of the school when it happened. One moment I was walking out the door, glad to finally be getting out of the hellhole they called "school" when—BANG!

No, I was not shot at in an attempted assassination. Actually, I was bombarded with a hail of paint-filled balloons. Pink paint. On my _white_ clothes. In my _white_ hair. The extent to which I was soiled was almost worse than the endless, howling laughter. I turned my head upwards to see my assailants. They were a bunch of kids that I recognized from my class.

"I'm going to be stained for life," I muttered dejectedly as I walked down the street. The apartment L and I lived in wasn't too far away from my school, and for this I was grateful. If I walked around soaked in paint for too long in the ever-warming sunshine, I would undoubtedly be picking the stuff out of my hair for more than just a couple of weeks.

I slammed the front door of the apartment as I slumped in, thanking God and every other deity I could think of that we had a tile area and storage box for shoes near the front door. L was half-Japanese, and liked to have a couple little reminders throughout the house (the shoe area by the door, the small table in the dining/living room that was scarcely used, the Japanese tea that he would normally reduce to something akin to paste with vast amounts of sugar).

I removed my shoes at the door, lifting up the legs of my baggy white pants. I trudged into my room and stripped down, throwing the soiled clothes into the hamper while hoping that the paint didn't stain any of my other clothes permanently. I didn't see the point in putting clean clothes on an unclean body, so I made my way into the bathroom that connected mine and L's rooms.

"Near?" I heard him call from the other side of the door to his room. "Are you showering?"

"Yes," I called back, expertly hiding my internal fury. "There was a mishap at school that left me quite soiled."

L didn't respond, and I assumed that either he didn't care, didn't hear, or didn't feel the need to reply to my reason. Because it was L, I assumed it was the latter.

After a ten minute shower, almost all the paint was removed from my body. The only traces of the stuff left were clumps knotted in my hair. I'd need to comb those out.

Fifteen minutes later found me dressed in new baggy, white clothes (which I've been told look quite like pajamas), raking the last gobs of paint from my hair, wincing as the comb pulled out a good amount of hair along with the paint. Taking a look in the bathroom mirror, I grimaced at the pink tinge my (previously) colorless locks had acquired. "Excellent…" I muttered to myself.

"Near?" L's voice was muffled by the door that hid him from sight, but still loud. Robotically, I walked into his room, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dark of the room that was only penetrated by L's computer. This room had blackout curtains, which blacked out (obviously) any and all rays of sunshine that the outside world offered.

"Yes?" I responded.

"Nothing," came his reply from around the silver spoon in his mouth. "I was only checking to be sure that it was you. Force of habit." He shrugged, like it was no big deal.

_It isn't a big deal_, I reminded myself. I was just overtired, overworked, and possibly hungry. But because I was overtired, I didn't feel like going to get anything to eat. L was concentrating wholly on the lengthy profile he was reading. It was some criminal that had recently been registered in a prison somewhere in South Africa. It was for this reason alone that he didn't notice me steal one of his small cakes. Either that or he did notice and let me have it out of pity.

…

Ha, like that would ever happen. He just didn't notice.

* * *

><p>Four hours later found me sitting at the table, just resting my head on it. My homework was all completed, having been finished at least an hour ago. It wouldn't have taken me so long if not for the vast amount of it.<p>

L finally emerged from his L-cave of Darkness and sat down across the table from me. "How was your day, Near?" he asked, not trying to hide the fact that he was staring at my hair. I didn't answer, prompting him to try and further the 'conversation'. "Your head is pink," he observed, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

"Yes." My voice was muffled by the table, and I was glad that he couldn't see my face, because it was actually starting to take on a pink tinge as well.

"Why?" I sighed. _Dammit, L_. Why couldn't he just leave me to my brooding?

"Because my peers are utterly juvenile and—to put it simply—just plain _mean_." Normally I wouldn't care; I could ignore the taunts and jibes, and even some of the physical bullying. It was all just annoying. But it made me angry when I thought about today's stunt. What right did they have to do such a thing? Anger was a foreign emotion to me, only felt on rare occasions. This just happened to be one of those occasions.

"Have you taken steps to prevent the bullying you're obviously enduring?" L asked me. I nodded.

"No one at school has taken action. The taunting is daily, the physical encounters are increasingly frequent, and the violent threats are growing in numbers at an alarming rate." L nodded, chewing on his thumb nail.

"I shall have a conversation with the school's administrative staff and see if we cannot work out an arrangement." As if to punctuate the sentence, he dropped a sugar cube into the already syrupy tea he was sipping. He tasted it again, and it seemed satisfactory, because he proceeded to noisily slurp the sickeningly sweet concoction.

"I'd actually rather you didn't," I said, sitting upright. L raised an eyebrow at me questioningly, prompting me to explain. "Even if you inform the school staff about the problem, there are only two things that are likely to happen. Either they will ignore it, which will make it continue at its current pace, or they will announce, and probably tighten, their zero-tolerance policy, which will emphasize my situation, thus forcing attention on me as everyone becomes angry with me for," I paused, trying to find the right phrase, "…ratting them out. When the situation seems as though the strict enforcement of the no-bullying rule has worked to its extent, and is no longer necessary, the administration will relax the security on the matter. Shortly after, the bullying would begin again—likely worse than it is at the present, and thus the cycle would repeat itself."

I narrowed my eyes infinitesimally. "And honestly, I'd rather not go through all that trouble." L nodded again, seemingly understanding my reasoning.

"…I see," he said, sighing. "Well if that is how you feel, than I will not interfere until you wish me to do so." With that, he sipped his…_mixture_, easily letting the subject drop. After a while, I got hungry, making myself a sandwich before retiring to bed.

I just wanted the day to be over.

Scarily enough, I woke up during the night, hearing the rustle of movement in my bedroom. I practically stopped breathing as I waited for it to stop. Eventually, the only sounds left were my breathing, my panicked heartbeat, and the light wind outside.

I turned over on my side, only to find that there was nothing there.

_Eh_, I thought dismissively. _It must've been my imagination._

* * *

><p><strong>So? What'd you think? Like it? Hate it? Drop me a review and tell me how I'm doing.<strong>


	2. Of School, New Faces, and a Shootout

**Wow, so many positive responses to chapter 1! Honestly, I didn't think I'd get so much feedback so soon. I've gotten five reviews since I posted yesterday afternoon XD! I hope I continue to get good reviews, but criticism is appreciated, and if there's something that is wrong, or bothers anybody, please let me know and I'll adjust the text accordingly. I know that Near is a little bit OOC (okay, maybe more than "a bit"), but I like to accredit that to the fact that this is AU. I don't think I could write for Near if he was in character. Sorry... Anyways, I have the first seven chapters written out, and I'm still trying to get ahead, so I'll probably be updating regularly, which wouldn't normally happen -_-'. So you shouldn't worry that I'm running out of material anytime soon. And I'm sorry that chapters are so short. They seem longer when I write them.**

**Well, I'm beginning to ramble, so I'll just get on with it already.**

**Disclaimer: If I were to discover that I owned Death Note, I would die of happiness. Seeing as I'm still here, typing away on Fanfiction, we can all assume that I'm not dead, and therefore, I don't own Death Note. Yet. ;)**

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 2: Of School, new Faces, and a Shootout<em>

_Bloody hell_.

Those were my first thoughts as I entered the public school building, already hearing the snickers about the incident from yesterday, and hearing the jibes about my now pink hair. The reaction I wanted to have was a scowl, or a frown, or even clenched fists. However, I knew from experience that it would only make the slight giggles turn into guffaws, and turn the quiet mockery into full blown taunting.

_Thank God it's Friday_, I thought, feeling horribly cliché for using such a tired phrase, even in my own mind.

Still, I maintained a vacantly bored expression, careful not to show any reaction. Instead of deterring the students' attention, it only seemed to draw more of it to me. Before I knew it, I was picked up by two boys I'd never seen before. Judging from their size, though, they were probably in my grade. I didn't object or protest as they lifted me by my arms, dropping me into a nearby metal trash bin, making my bottom sink downwards.

I sighed, waiting until they were gone to climb out. The first place I went was the bathroom. Once I was there, I went into a stall to inspect the seat of my pants. They weren't very dirty, considering the fact that the trash can had been close to empty due to it being the beginning of the day.

_It's Friday_. I thought firmly. _The week is almost over…you'll survive one more day, and then it's time for recuperation._

What kind of pissed me off, though, was that recuperation time only lasted as long as we were out of school. After that, it was right back to being undermined and roughed up.

_It's Friday_.

That was going to be my mantra to get me through the day.

After sitting through Math class, my final class of the day, with little incident, I was glad to finally escape the institution. I had only just fast-walked off school grounds when a couple of junior girls walked by me, purposely bumping my shoulders, rather roughly, at the same time, which resulted in my immediately falling into the concrete sidewalk.

I pushed myself up off the ground, wincing at the pain in my elbow. I jumped when I noticed a hand in front of my face. And for once, it wasn't a fist.

I allowed my gaze to travel up the arm to the person's face, and found myself looking at a blonde teenager (possibly in his early twenties), with long hair, some of which managed to cover most of a grisly-looking burn scar. In one hand was an open, half-eaten chocolate bar. Only when his grip tightened around it did I realize that I'd been staring. Gratefully, I took hold of his hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet.

"Thank you," I said politely. I just kind of stood there for a few minutes while he looked me over with an inquisitive expression. After a few moments, he gave a curt nod.

"Anytime," he said, turning to walk away. I raised a thin eyebrow.

_That was a little weird_…

Upon entering my home several minutes later, I saw that L was nowhere to be found. The _tap-tap-tap_ of his fingers against his laptop keys gave away his position behind the couch, though. Highly anti-climactic.

After eating dinner and finishing my homework that night, I found myself sitting on my bed, thinking.

_I'm so bored._

_I'm so bored._

_I'm so bored._

_I'm so bored._

_I'm so bored._

Eventually I got tired of this mantra. It only added to the immense boredom. Instead, I tried to think of things I could do.

_I could play chess with L…_That was an option, but L usually won the games easily, having more experience. _I could help with a case…_That was a good choice, I really didn't feel like working. _I could go out and see if I meet anyone interesting…_Hmm…If the likelihood that I wouldn't run into some of my classmates if I went out wasn't so high, I probably would've gone with that one.

Suddenly, so it seemed, I came upon an epiphany. _There'll be lots of other people there, and no one will bother you in public. If they do, all you have to do is call for help!_ I nodded at my logic, satisfied for the time being. I checked the wall clock, noting that I would have to be home before dark, which would come in probably around three or four hours, leaving myself plenty of time.

Pulling on shoes and a jacket, I pocketed a few dice, my cell phone, and some money. "Elliot! I'm leaving!" I called as I was walking out the door. "I'll be home soon!"

He didn't respond.

I closed the door of the apartment behind me, taking a deep breath as I left my home willingly for the first time in…well, _ever_.

And what was the most mundane, ordinary thing that I could possibly think to do?

Go to the mall.

Being at the local outlet mall wasn't much different than being at home. Okay, so maybe that's a bit much. In fact, they were very different. At the mall, it was noisy and stimulating, with people in every direction you looked. At home, it was quiet, and when L was home—which was basically all the time—he remained staring at a computer screen nearly 24/7.

So really the only way they were the same, was that they were _incredibly _boring.

If someone wasn't staring at me, pointing me out to their friends, than I was staring at them. I was practically hunting with my eyes, combing through the crowd to find people that looked worth talking to. Of course, though, my obsessive crowd-scanning led me to notice the blonde man from before, the one who'd helped me up. What unnerved me, was how he actually seemed to be looking in my direction if not directly at me.

Standing up from my empty table in the food court, I began walking over to him. As I got closer, I noticed his eyes widen, and he seemed to want to back away. He looked straight at me, and when our gazes locked, he seemed to realize that running away wasn't an option. So he stayed in his spot, looking anywhere but at me.

"Hello," I said pleasantly, when I was only a few feet away. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at me.

"Hey." He didn't really seem to be in a 'talking' kind of mood.

"I never caught your name," I mused. Just because he didn't feel like talking didn't mean I wasn't going to talk to him. And he seemed like a pretty nice guy. I mean, a jerk doesn't go around helping random strangers to their feet in the middle of a deserted sidewalk.

"I never threw it," he replied, cheekily. After a moment of hesitation,"…It's Mello." He finally decided to turn his eyes back to mine. Hmm. They weren't green like I'd thought. Rather they were a bluish color.

"I'm Near," I said. We just kind of stood there for a few minutes, neither of us speaking, and I got the feeling that he was about as socially adept as L and me, even though his appearance radiated with confidence. I mean, could a timid person walk around in so much leather? It wasn't necessarily skin-tight, but it was still leather. _Black_ leather. If the guy dyed his hair black, he could be goth, and the silver rosary around his neck didn't say much against the fact.

"What's up?" he said awkwardly, breaking the silence. I shrugged.

"There's nothing interesting going on," I replied, bringing a hand up to twirl my hair. "Home is boring, and this place is worse." I glanced around, noticing that there was _still _nothing of much significance happening. "Do you know of anything nearby that is even mildly attention-grabbing?" The words came out of my mouth before I really thought about what I was saying.

Mello eyed me strangely, but seemed to think it over. "…Not much to do but shop and eat here," he concluded, taking a bite of the chocolate I didn't even notice that he had. It was the same brand as before, though it was definitely a different bar.

I sighed. "Thanks anyway." I began to walk away, trying to go a bit slower than usual in my stupid hopes that maybe he'd remember something and point me in the direction of it. When I was pretty much out of range from him, though, I gave up hope and started wandering around, eyeing the small boutiques set up in the middle of the giant corridors. In the end, I did buy something—a small glass panda paperweight. It seemed like a good joke for my overworked cousin.

Once my purchase was secure in my pocket, I sat back down at the food court, pulling out the dice I'd brought along. I stacked them as high as they would go, even though there were only five. When that got boring, I started rolling them in an attempt to get all sixes consecutively. Thankfully, that provided a challenge that distracted me from the world around me.

…at least until I heard someone walk over to my table.

Upon looking at the person, I practically felt my stomach drop. It was one of my well-known tormentors, Scott Wilkes. He was infamous for physical confrontation. He wasn't a cliché athlete, like in movies. He just worked out on his own time. And if you're wondering how I know, it's kind of obvious from his appearance. You don't get muscular by sitting around playing video games. Plus, it's kind of hard not to notice when he brags about it constantly.

So what could he possibly want with me? By the way, that was sarcasm.

"Scott," I said in greeting. "Kaleb, Jacob." Two of his friends were on either flank, and I had to hold back a snort at the cliché of it. Apparently, my acknowledgement of the bully and his cronies must've insulted him, because his face went from a smirk, to a slightly twisted snarl.

"What the hell are you doing here, sheep?" he demanded, grabbing the front of my shirt. "You don't have any business at a place for socializing." I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Not only was he spouting stupid nonsense, but it seemed as though he was trying to show that he was on my level intellectually by using a 'big' word like 'socializing'.

"I believe that whether or not I have business to attend to in this place is up to me, wouldn't you agree?" I said coolly, hoping that my voice didn't betray my dread, and slight panic. "And in any case, I actually did come to socialize with someone." I knew that would probably earn me a punch to the face, so I didn't let my eyes stray from Scott's face.

"Oh yeah, sheep?" I nodded. "Who?" I actually did allow myself a scowl that time.

I opened my mouth to reply and—

_BANG!_

_SHATTER!_

_SCREAM!_

Seemingly all at once, the mall went into chaos. A loud 'bang' sound resonated at the same time the sound of a shattering window could be heard. It was one of the windows at the top of the front wall of the food court, which also happened to be the front of the mall itself. The screams came almost simultaneously. I threw my head back to look at the falling glass across the room, and I was dropped to the ground in Scott's haste to escape a potential shootout. I took just a second to grab my dice from the table and run towards the exit. Just because I was able to keep a poker face with bullies, and even now, didn't mean I wanted to get shot.

I didn't stop running until I got home, slamming the door behind me as I doubled over to catch my breath. My lungs weren't necessarily burning, but they seriously hurt. I don't think I'd ever run like that in my life. It was kind of contradictory to my personality.

"Near?" L's concerned voice drifted down the hallway from his room. I sighed, kicking off my shoes before going to him. "Are you okay?" he asked, seeing my slightly disheveled state and heat-flushed cheeks. I nodded.

"I was at the outlet mall in the town center," I explained. "Someone shot out a window, and there was basically a riot." L's eyes widened minutely. It was such a small change that it looked like he'd merely twitched.

"I trust you are not injured," he said, sounding strained. I shook my head, and he seemed let out the smallest of sighs, in what I figured was relief.

"It's not high on my list of the great experiences I've had, but I wasn't hurt." On that note, I went into my room and laid down on my bed.

_I guess this is what I deserve,_ I thought. _I'm the one who wanted something interesting to happen._

I think I've discovered something about life.

Karma is a bitch.


	3. Ignorance is Bliss, Awareness is Misery

**Hey guys! Wow, so many positive reactions to this story! Thanks to _CrazyForCoffee_, _lolzy33, Trouble Cookie, iatethecookie, Sara's Dementia, _and _Kayla-kun_ for favorite-ing. And thanks to _TheRainbowStyle_, _Sara's Dementia_, and _hts911_ for putting _My Dear Stalker _**on their story alerts list! And a big thanks to _CrazyForCoffee, Trouble Cookie, TheRainbowStyle, Sara's Dementia _(all of whom either alerted, favorited, or both), _LucaBlightisPUCA, _and_ SarySoda_ for reviewing!****

****Disclaimer: IDNODN.****

* * *

><p>Saturday came just as dull as Friday, and I was not about to alleviate my tedium with another trip into town. Up until around four o'clock, I helped L solve cases. Obviously he didn't need help solving them, though, so I was mainly just lightening the load by taking some of the simpler ones.<p>

When four o'clock came around, though, my stomach growled, alerting me to the fact that I hadn't eaten all day. I went into the kitchen, my legs sore from sitting for too long. A few minutes later, I emerged, nibbling on a turkey sandwich. L had gone out for a few minutes, actually going into the sun willingly in search of more confections to fill his sweet tooth.

I sat on the floor at the table, pulling out a plastic bag of dice from under it. I stacked them up into different shapes for a while, occasionally taking bites out of the sandwich.

_Briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!_

The sound of the phone ringing brought me out of my dazed dice-stacking as I picked up the wireless device.

"Hello," I said monotonously. "This is Near."

"_N-Near_," a mechanical voice said. Immediately, I was tensed and mentally on-guard. I had been raised with L for so long, I knew perfectly well what a filtered voice meant.

"Who is this?" I asked, completely masking the slight panic I felt.

"_I can't tell you that_," the person replied. "_However, I want to let you know, that you shouldn't have to worry about your bullies anymore. I've taken care of them._" The other person paused, my breath hitched. Did 'taken care of' mean…? "_Please, don't worry, Near_," they continued. "_They are still alive…I haven't killed them. I just scared them a bit. Hopefully they won't be messing with you anymore. If they do, I'll know. Trust me._"

The line went dead after that, leaving me trembling.

"I-I…"I stammered. "I've got a…I've got a stalker."

_Shit_…

I tried to continue the rest of my day like I had planned, trying to shake the paranoid feeling that someone was watching me, the feeling of eyes watching me even in rooms with no windows. It didn't really work. Especially when I went to the bathroom.

Yeah. Have you ever tried to pee while looking over your shoulder?

…Yeah…

Anyways, I was still on edge when L got home, so the sound of the door closing literally made me yelp.

"Near?" L questioned, looking at me. I winced, and mentally damned myself to hell ten times over. I probably looked like I'd just seen a ghost or an ax murderer. "Are you okay?" I nodded, grabbing a couple armfuls of case files and retreating to my room. Even then I was a bit reluctant to close the door. Once I was sat down on my bed, spreading the numerous folders out around me, I tried to sort through my thoughts.

Who could my stalker possibly be? Why would they be watching me? Obviously they were, or they wouldn't know about my bully problem. And what could t hey have said, or _done _to the aforementioned bullies to scare them off…?

_I should tell L_, I thought. _He could figure this out no problem. I'm too emotionally influenced in this situation to think clearly._ That was a good plan. Tell my cousin, the genius L, that I was being stalked. He'd find the stalker.

_But what if the stalker kills L?_

The thought hit me like a cargo train. This person knew our phone number. Which meant he'd probably looked us up in the phone book. To do that, he had to know either L's alias, or our address. Either way, all three things were listed in the phone book. So if he knew where we lived then he probably knew I lived with my cousin, Elliot. And if he really was watching me, then he probably knew that Elliot was a very good detective. And that put L at risk if the stalker knew that he was being hunted by him.

_So now I can't tell _L_? _I thought exasperatedly. _Jesus Christ…_ I sighed, dropping my head into my hands. What else could I do really, at this point?

"Near?" At L's voice, my head snapped up. He was holding a phone in his hand. Or rather, he was holding it with his thumb and forefinger. "It's for you." I almost felt my heart skip a beat.

"Hello?" I questioned monotonously into the receiver, watching as L exited the room.

"_Near?_" it was my stalker. He actually sounded unsure of himself despite the mechanical disguise.

"What is it?" I made my voice as cold and uncaring as I ever could, in hopes to dissuade him. What was special about me? To everyone else, I was a rude, blunt, unfeeling robot.

"_Stop worrying_." I rolled my eyes and sighed, but the person continued. "_I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to hurt Elliot_." I felt my entire body freeze. Oh, so now the bastard was a mind reader, too?

"I'm hanging up now," I said, ignoring his protests and pleas for me to wait. The dial tone was the best thing I'd heard all day. It was cut off by the ringer.

The number was unidentified. The sicko wasn't going to stop, was he? I sighed.

…_Damn…_

* * *

><p>The rest of the weekend passed, becoming even more stressful all the time. My stalker called at least twice a day, and usually it was to say "good morning" and "good night", to which I would reply with "I'm hanging up."<p>

Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep, which is why I went to school on Monday with bags under my eyes that were the exact opposite of attractive. If my lack of sleep wasn't enough, I was also dreading what I would find in regards to my torment. I knew I was going to be pissed no matter what the outcome was. If they really stopped torturing me, then it didn't help my stress about my still-unnamed stalker. If they didn't, than…well, they'd still be making me miserable.

Talk about damned if you do, damned if you don't. I sighed, hanging my head. The last few days had been _so_ messed up…

I whipped my head to the side as I heard a rustle in the trimmed bushes that ran the length of the sidewalk. There was nothing there. I sighed heavily, fighting the urge to outright groan. _This situation has got me too damn paranoid_, I thought, rubbing my sleepless eyes.

Before I knew it, I was at school, walking through the double doors. I waited for someone to hoist me up by my brand new white backpack, or dump the remains of a morning coffee over my head, or throw a paper ball at me.

Nothing.

If anything, the hallway got quieter, if only slightly so, as I walked past. I glanced around, noticing how people started whispering indiscreetly. I listened hard to try and catch bits of their conversations.

"_No, man, we can't!_" one voice whispered urgently.

"_Remember what he said…" _came another.

The rest of the bits and pieces that I picked up on were things like that, though there was an occasional insult. Some people weren't even gossiping about me, though they did whisper obscenities in my direction as I passed.

Now you'd think that I would be relieved that the bullying seemed to have stopped. However, it had a dangerous feeling about it. It was as though I was a goldfish swimming around with a bunch of piranha, and was only safe because the person in control of the fish tank threatened to beat them if they came within a three foot radius of me. Eventually, they wouldn't care anymore, and they'd only get mad that I was suddenly untouchable. So, when they stopped holding back, they would attack with full force, and the torment would only be worse.

So I was practically having an anxiety attack, though I didn't let it show. Instead, I kept my eyes looking straight ahead.

_Hmm…_I thought, thinking about my earlier analogy. _That would make my stalker the controller of the fish tank, and I his favorite…how fitting. But I wonder, where does that put the two of _us_ on the balancing scale of power?_ The thought was slightly unnerving. What if he found a way to manipulate _me_…?

I sighed lightly, aware that I was supposed to be upholding a pretense of impassiveness. I wished I had a pillow to scream into. _If ignorance is bliss_, I thought bitterly. _Then awareness is misery_. If I hadn't known about this whole stalker thing, I would've been fine and dandy, going about my daily life unchanged. Sure, I would still be bullied, but at least I would be able to sleep and use the restroom properly.

I blinked, suddenly noticing that I was in front of my locker, still dazed. I blinked a few more times before going through my routine, exchanging books and whatnot.

"Hey freak!" I felt the presence before I heard the words. There was a person standing right behind me.

_Dammit_… "Yes?" I said, not turning around. This prompted the probable bully to turn me around forcibly. Once I saw his face, I knew exactly who he was. His name was Jacob Strauss, and his incarcerated father was forcing him to play football to get a scholarship. However, Jacob wasn't naturally strong, and was currently on steroids.

Even though it made him sound pathetic to me, you might remember that the steroids made him bigger, and stronger. And that made him a _giant_ compared to me.

"Unlike everyone else here," he continued forcing me to look at him. "I'm not afraid of your little bodyguard friend." I frowned.

"What bodyguard?" I asked coldly. The fire in the teen's eyes seemed to grow, if anything.

"That freak who threatened us all!" he yelled. "You know the guy I'm talking about!" I felt my eyes widen for a split second, and cursed myself at the show of emotion. Inside, though, my heart was racing. Could it have been my stalker? He said he'd…_scared_ them all, but a threat?

"What did he look like?" I asked, my shaky voice betraying the urgency I felt. The idiot must've thought that my apparent fear was directed at _him_, though, because he smirked at me. He probably felt a swell of pride, knowing that he was the first to actually evoke a physical reaction from me.

"Shut up you little liar," was his answer. He slammed me against the locker next to mine, knocking the wind out of me. Before I could regain my breath, I was shoved into my own open locker, which slammed shut moments later. I greedily sucked in air like a fish out of water, a task which proved difficult when I had both of my knees pulled up to my chest in such a small place. After a few minutes, I could breathe regularly, but any and all sounds had vanished from outside the locker. I muttered an obscenity as I realized that I must've missed the bell in my attempt to reacquaint my lungs with oxygen.

"Hey, Near." The voice was lazy, unfamiliar, and sounded garbled for some reason. I tried to peak out the three open vent slots to get a good look at the person, but all I saw was a Nintendo DS , a pair of black clad legs and arms, and a little wisp of smoke. Well that explained the garbled voice. He probably had a cigarette clasped between his lips.

"Who are you?" I inquired uneasily. "Are you the one who's been calling me?" I felt panic start to seep into my tone, but this time, I didn't really care.

"Nah," the guy replied. "I'm his buddy. He didn't wanna come in person, so he sent me to get you out of this. Ah, hold on." I heard a few clicks and beeps as he continued what seemed to be a particularly hard level on his game. Eventually, though, he closed the device and stuffed it into a pocket. "I set the dial back to zero," he said, blowing smoke as he talked. "What's your combination?" I hesitated. _I'm his buddy…_This guy was friends with my stalker? It seemed plausible. He didn't sound like he was lying, and if my stalker really needed a cover story, he seemed like the type who would think of something much more believable.

Then there was the immediate problem. I was stuck in my locker, and some strange person I've never met before was smoking on the other side of the door, asking me for my combination.

…

"…Left 20, right 35, left 15, right 18."

Honestly, I didn't care anymore whether or not he had my lock's combination. I could always buy a new one, and the guy seemed to nonchalant to really care about stealing anything from me. _As if I have anything to steal, anyways_. It was true; all I really had was a box of dominos, a box of dice, and my schoolbooks.

I heard the click just in time for me to brace myself for the fall out. Luckily, I managed to catch myself, with a steadying hand from my rescuer, which I quickly backed away from.

Speaking of my savior, I could actually see him now. He was wearing a black hoodie, black jeans, trainers, and a black hat that covered most of his wine colored hair. He had orange-tinted goggles that seemed to be his main facial feature, along with the lit cigarette dangling lazily from his lips, smoke rising off the end.

"You look like a burglar," I stated dryly. He only chuckled, tapping ashes off his cigarette before taking a long drag.

"And you look like a ghost," he taunted good-naturedly around the smoke. I wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"Tell whoever you're with that I'm not interested in whatever they're doing," I said coolly. "Tell them to leave me alone." The redhead smiled, dragging the smoke again. I fought the urge to cough and tell him to smother the cancer-stick.

"Even if I did tell him that," he said. "It's not like it would do any good. Guy's freaking obsessed with you. I wouldn't know why. You don't _look_ like much…" I was torn between horror at what he'd said about my stalker being both stubborn _and _OBSESSED, and being angry that he'd insulted me. I decided to go with the former.

"Who is he, at least?" I questioned, watching the ashes fall from the end of the cigarette and onto the tiled floor.

"I…" the smoker began, getting close to my face. "…am not allowed to say." I felt my eyes widen and glared at him as he blew smoke straight in my face. He backed up and began walking away, like he hadn't just saved from entrapment in a locker and possibly given me cancer with his secondhand smoke.

"By the way…" the guy called. "He wanted you to have this!" I had only just looked up from where my gaze rested on my feet in time to catch the small package. It was a good thing, too, because the plastic case seemed heavy and solid. I looked at the small device with contempt, wanting to open it and smash it. "You can call me M2 by the way!" After that, M2 disappeared around a corner.

I sighed, and fought the urge to growl viciously at everyone and everything in my mind that had ever pissed me off. I actually do keep a list, and it's pretty damn long, in case you were wondering.

As I closed the door to my locker, I made sure to drop the metal combination lock my stalker had gifted to me inside, hopefully never to resurface.

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews are love. And cookies.<strong>


	4. M

**Wow, in the last twenty-four hours or so, I got the same number of reviews for one chapter that I got in all the previous chapters combined! I guess people are really starting to like this story... Well, I'm working on chapter 7 (cuz the one I had saved before dissappeared from my thumb drive for whatever reason), and after that, I should get chapter 8 out pretty fast. Please bear in mind (even though you guys aren't really quite there, yet) that there may be one or two chapters dedicated to filler. Sorry about that, but going straight from one arc to another with no break between is not only overly-dramatic, but also kinda hard to write. Well, to write _well _anyways. I've seen people do it before, and it doesn't always turn out great. And I tried it once...did not turn out great _at all_. So I will have a chapter or two of filler. hope you guys don't decide to abandon me because the story gets boring. And I promise that I will not abandon this story!**

**Oh yeah, and while I'm at it, I should also mention that the filler won't be coming quite yet. I'll let you know when it does.**

**Disclaimer: I don't know...I mean, I could _subconciously _own Death Note...If that's the case, I could own Death Note, and not even know it. Another me could be writing manga as I sleep.**

**L: So you're not _concious_ of it...?**

* * *

><p>The next day—no for the rest of the week, Jacob Strauss wasn't at school. The rumor was that he was sick, and wouldn't be at school for a while. This didn't really make my life easier, because there was <em>another <em>rumor that _I'd _infected him with "albino-itis" and that if he came back looking like a ghost, it would be the end of seemed to buy that story (about him being sick, that is), and honestly, I would have, too, if not for this whole stalker business. If he'd threatened my bullies before, who was to say that he wouldn't follow through with it if they messed with me?

My fears were confirmed on Friday morning, when one of Jacob's best friends came running into the hallway, shouting at everyone. I had been walking by, waiting for someone to slap the book out of my hand, when I heard the commotion.

"Guys!" The one who was screaming was Dylan Ruford, the quarterback on the football team. "Jake was just found!"

"What are you talking about, Ruford?" someone else asked. "Jake's been out sick the last few days!" Murmurs of agreement came from the small crowd around them. Dylan frantically shook his head, looking spooked.

"I was just at his house!" he said. "The police are there and everything! His dad said he's been missing for the last week, and that the whole 'out sick' thing was just a cover story!" I frowned. This seemed pretty extreme. Maybe it _wasn't_… "They finally found him just off the highway!" Dylan went on, waving his hands around hysterically. "He was beat up real bad and everything! His dad said it was like he was mugged and left for dead." The crowd quieted down quite a bit after that.

"Well…" began one girl in a red sweater. "We've gotta go visit him! Is he in the hospital?" The conversation continued like that, with plans to meet up at the hospital after school. I knew I wasn't welcome, obviously, but I wanted to go. Not only to express my sympathy for Jacob, but to question him.

Don't get me wrong, I felt kind of bad that he was hurt, but if he looked like he'd been beaten as bad as Ruford made it seem, than he must've gotten at least _one_ good look at his attacker. And his attacker was more than likely the person who'd been stalking me. M2 didn't give the impression of the kind of person to actually beat someone down. Hell, he didn't even look like the type to get up off the couch unless you were waving some kind of portable gaming device out of his reach. Even then, it seemed like a stretch.

So, unless my stalker had other agents (which was also a possibility I was considering), he must've done the job himself.

I was so lost in thought that I actually jumped when my phone started vibrating in my pocket. Calming down, I moved my hand from where I was unconsciously twirling my hair to pluck it from my jeans. I moved discreetly into a corner where I wasn't likely to be spotted, even with my stark-whiteness.

"Hello?" I said quietly, not bothering to check the caller ID.

"_Near_," said the familiar mechanical voice. I felt my expression sour.

"What do you want?" I asked bitterly. "Did you beat up Jacob Strauss?" There was a short silence on his end, but he did reply eventually.

"_Yes, that was me_," he confessed. "_But it was for your own good. I made an example of that idiot. Anyways, the reason I called, is because I wanted to give you a name to put to my person. Actually, all I can give you is a letter. Please…call me M._"

"Hey!" I tried to call into the phone. The damned dial tone was all that replied.

_At least I have something to call him, now_.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day passed slowly as I pondered the M's true identity, and whether or not I'd hear from him again soon. I didn't come up with much, except for a few frustrated dead-ends. I couldn't think of a single way to find out who he was, or where for that matter. The only face he'd really shown me was that of M2, who seemed to be his personal lackey. There were no loose ends that I could investigate, apart from the phone calls. Those would be the obvious place to start, but I had a feeling that whoever M was, he was thorough. No doubt, I would go through all the trouble of gathering phone records and whatnot (though the only trouble would be keeping it a secret from L), only to find either no record of the calls, or that they were blocked and untraceable.<p>

Even though my hatred of M was still burning strong, I did feel a slight burst of respect for him. He literally had me prancing around in the palm of his hand, and he was holding me over a fire. There was nowhere to go.

That was why I saw it as important to speak with Jacob Strauss. Unfortunately, when I arrived at the hospital, at least half of the school seemed to be there to visit with him. By the time everyone was gone, there were only ten minutes left in the visiting hours. Jacob looked fatigued, but well enough awake to answer a few questions.

...if he was willing to, that was.

I sheepishly stepped inside the room, hoping that he didn't start screaming at me the moment I entered. Instead, I saw his eyebrows crease, and he frowned heavily. "Wha' d'you wan?" he spat at me. I took a moment to look him over before answering. The teen was heavily bruised, with a split lip. His head was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage that I was sure was covering a horrible disfiguration.

"I need to ask you a few questions," I stated bluntly, noticing how his eyes became wary and confused.

"I'll say it again: wha'; d'you wan'?" I almost winced at noticing that one of his front teeth was missing. That combined with a swollen jaw, and his speech was only barely comprehensible. Plus, glaring at me must've been a killer on his eyes.

…Yes. He's glaring at me and I'm hoping that it doesn't hurt him too much to do so.

…What's wrong with me?

"I meant it when I denied knowing anything of a bodyguard," I continued. "I need you to describe your attacker to me. I believe that if I am aware of his appearance, it might make it easier to catch him." I began to twirl my hair. Jacob looked skeptical. What if he refused? It wasn't as though I could force him, or threaten him. And even though it might've helped to tell him I was working with L (which I wasn't), it would obviously cause problems for me and my reclusive cousin.

"Catch 'im?" Jacob scoffed. "What're you, some kinda detective or something?" When I didn't answer him, he eventually sighed. "…Whaddaya wanna know?" I turned my face towards him, only just realizing that I'd looked away in thought.

"Anything you can remember," I said, hoping that the desperation in my voice wasn't too clear. Apparently, Jacob realized that I was being serious, because he actually sighed as his eyes softened.

"I don' have mush," he admitted, his words slurred. "It was dark, 'cause I was out runnin' pre'y early. I din' see mush, but I think he was blon'. His hair was kinda long, too. I 'member he was holdin' a gun to my head, and threatened to shoot if I made a move. I tried to get away, but he shot at my feet and I tripped. After that I remember he slammed me in the head with the gun, but I musta passed out or somethin' 'cuz I don' 'member after that." Jacob's eyebrows knitted together in what looked like confusion and fatigue. "That's all I got." I absorbed the information, nodding.

"Thank you very much, Jacob," I said, sincerely. Before I could see his reaction, I stood up, walking out of the room. He didn't try and stop me or anything. And there wasn't really any reason for him to.

_Blonde_… I thought as I walked out the hospital doors. _So all I have to do is watch out for a blonde man with long hair, possibly with a gun strapped to him somewhere._ _And if he was able to take down Jacob Strauss, he must've been relatively young, but also strong. There's no way that someone over forty years old, unless they're a professional athlete or military, could take down someone of that size. He also can't be under 18, and must be at least a hundred pounds._ Suddenly, I stopped the motion of my hand twirling my hair.

_That isn't necessarily true... _I realized. It didn't take much more than average strength to knock someone unconscious with the aid of a metal weapon or blunt instrument. The handle of a gun near the temple definitely packed a punch, and it was entirely possible that it only took one blow to knock out Jacob Strauss. Unfortunately for me, that undid the ruling out of someone over forty.

Then again, if M had long blonde hair, than it stood to reason that he'd have to be relatively young. What older men were interested in having long hair? And if it was someone much older, than they would've had graying or receding hair (as much as the thought of someone that old stalking me made me want to vomit, it was a possibility that had to be considered) .

Also, it wouldn't make sense for someone younger than 18 to 20 years old would be stalking me. What would be the point in that? L and I had both solved stalker cases before. And though the…victims were usually female, the stalkers themselves were usually much older than them. That was usually the whole point of the action of shadowing someone. If it was legal, and/or within the realm of possibility for the two people (potential stalker and victim) to engage in a realistic relationship, then there was nothing stopping the potential stalker from pursuing something within that range.

Then again, most stalker situations were about something…_different_ that a normal relationship. I shuddered. _I hope to God that that is _not_ what my situation is about_.

My phone vibrating in my pocket forced me out of my thoughts for the second time that day, and I pulled it out, flipping it open before bringing it to my ear.

"Hello?" I said absently.

"_Hi, Near."_

_Damn it._

"You know I should really start checking my caller ID before answering the phone," I commented acidly. "How many times do you plan to call me today?"

"_I just wanted to tell you that—"_ I actually cut _him_ off this time.

"First of all, _M_," my tone was mocking as I stressed his name—er, title. "I'm sick of the fact that most of our conversation go like this. Now it's my turn to ask questions, or I'm hanging up and reporting you to the police for harassment!" I knew my threat was empty. I couldn't very well report him if I had no clue who he was, could I?

"…_Fine_. _Obviously I'm not going to give away my identity or location, but I'll answer any other questions._" Even through the mechanical filter, I could sense the defeat in his voice. I smirked in triumph.

"First of all," I began. "Why are you…stalking me?" It felt weird saying it out loud. And apparently, it was funny to M, because he began chuckling.

"_I can't say I love your choice of words…_" he said. "_It's because I like you._" He paused for a moment. "_A lot_." I shuddered.

"How old are you?" M seemed to contemplate this question, and I tried to follow his thought process. Honestly, he seemed pretty smart. Smart enough to consider that I might be able to use his age to figure out who he was. Eventually, though, he made his decision.

"_I'm twenty-one_," he answered. "_And no I'm not a drunk, or on drugs._" I frowned, a bit irritated that he'd anticipated my next questions. I assume that he took my silence as petulance, because he chuckled again.

"Are you and M2 alone?" I asked crossly.

"_Yes_."

"Are you watching me right now?"

"…_Yes_."

"Do you watch me in my house?"

"…_Yes_." The fact that he didn't answer the question I was obviously asking only locked the answer for me.

"Do you have cameras, or do you watch in person?" I felt indignance seeping into my tone despite my wishes.

"…_I have four cameras in your bedroom, three in your living room, and two in your kitchen. At night, though, I do watch you in person._"

_Is this guy for real?_

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed. "Are you sure you're not some thirty-five year old lech who lives in his mother's basement?"

"_Okay, for one thing, my mother is dead. For another, I'm 21."_

"Oh, my mistake," I said sarcastically. I looked around, making sure that no one was around. It wasn't that hard to misunderstand the conversation, especially if you only heard my end of it. "I think you know what I'm asking."

"…_you're blushing._" My thin eyebrows shot up of their own volition. I raised a hand to my face, resting it on my cheek. Indeed, there was heat, which meant that there was a higher concentration of blood in my face, which meant that my cheeks were probably stained red. The thought only made it worse. Despite my embarrassment, though, I had a sudden thought.

"What kind of camera do you have, M?" I asked, or rather muttered.

"_Nothing fancy. Just some typical security cameras like in gas stations. You're free to disable them if you like._" I narrowed my eyes, smirking.

"So you're watching me in person, then?" He obviously knew what I meant. If he only had a gas station-level black and white surveillance camera, then he wouldn't have known if I was blushing or not. That, and it was unlikely that he'd have them set up in public.

"…_Yes…_" I could almost feel his nerves. I was winning this round.

"So you must be somewhere near me…" I glanced around as I spoke, feeling a burst of satisfaction as M began hissing cuss words at himself.

Finally, I saw motion in a tree, and ran towards it. The rustling of leaves continued to get faster, and I dropped my cell phone in my haste to get there before it stopped. I dug through the bushes surrounding the tree, not caring that the rough branches were scratching me. I was on a mission. Eventually, I got through.

But M wasn't there. Not the person anyways.

You know what _was_?

It was a necklace with a silver M.

What. THE. _**HELL**_?

* * *

><p>After -sigh- picking up my dropped cell phone, I was charged with the task of replacing the battery while trying to keep my hand from throwing the stupid necklace into the street. I had picked it up, and not wanted to put it back down. Was that weird? It was obviously M's, or <em>from<em> M. Why would I keep anything of his?

L didn't question me like I had feared when I got home. Instead, he stared at me unnervingly from over his teacup until I spilled my guts.

"A boy at school was found beaten close to death. I went to visit him at the hospital." L nodded.

"Have they found the attacker yet?" My heart skipped a beat. What should I tell him? If I told him yes, than he wouldn't care. If I told him no, he'd probably go after M, which was a way for him to possibly get hurt.

"Yes," I said, my stomach sinking. "It was another local football team's sick idea of a prank. Actually I guess it was more of a warning, really. Jacob Strauss, the boy who got hurt, was the quarterback of my school's team." After my brief explanation, I went back to nursing my chamomile tea in silence. I had a massive headache, and I knew I was in for more when I woke up in the middle of the night to disable the cameras in the living room and kitchen. I could do the ones in my room easily, but L would be hidden away in his room by at least 2 am, leaving me to do as I pleased, so long as I was quiet enough so as not to be noticed.

In my pocket was the necklace; it felt like a lead weight as I stood, languidly walking to my room and slamming the door ever-so-gracefully.

…_I hate my life…_


	5. Of Lonliness and Breakfast Foods

After I had disabled all the cameras in my bedroom, I stripped, dressing in more comfortable clothes. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. And as I lay there on my white comforter, staring at the ceiling, I realized something.

_My day SUCKED. _Like, bad.

I know it's a stupid thing to think. I knew it was a stupid thing to think _then._ But it just suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks (not literally of course, because then my internal organs would be smashed, my spinal cord would shatter, and my skull caving in would result in the virtual destruction of—you know what? Never mind.)

The point is, the thought hit me hard.

And what was my only consolation, you may ask? I had my first, real _conversation_ with my STALKER.

Am I the only one noticing a pattern in my life?

But wait—it gets better.

Living with L, I was all too accustomed to being woken up in the middle of the night while he ravaged the kitchen in search of something made of sugar (which shouldn't have been such a feat considering the fact that it was all he ate). However, this time, he woke me up intentionally. "Near," he whispered harshly in my face. I jolted awake, snapping my body upright. This didn't really have the desired effect. And by that, I mean that we basically slammed heads. Not exactly a fun experience.

Which is why, we were both sitting on my bed, nursing our red foreheads, at—I checked my digital clock—12:17 in the morning.

"Dammit, L…" I cursed, flipping on my bedside lamp. "What could you possibly want? I'm not going out on another late-night snack run for you…" The last time that had happened, I had had to deal with the meddlesome cashier who insisted that I shouldn't have been out that late buying sweets to begin with, and had called the police to take me home. Then _L_ had gotten in trouble for sending a minor "wandering the streets at night, just to fill your selfish sweet-tooth". That was how the red-faced officer had explained it, anyway.

"Near," he said, seemingly ignoring my earlier statements. "I'm leaving on a flight to Russia in approximately one-and-a-half hours." My eyes widened, and I frowned, fully awake now.

"What?" I questioned dazedly. "You're leaving? As in, leaving the country?" He nodded. "Why is it so sudden?" He nibbled on his thumb absent-mindedly.

"It was a sudden breakthrough in the case I'm working on," he explained. "But I can't receive quick messages easily through their low-standard technology. It's a _very_ rural area where they don't have quick internet access or anything like that. I'm sorry, Near, but they need me over there as soon as possible. Would you like to come with me? I'm sure Watari would be glad to see you again." I could tell that he didn't want me to. Even though his poker face would've fooled anyone else, I had lived with him long enough to know. He was only inviting me as a…formality, I guess—only to be polite.

"N-No," I answered, damning myself to the ninth circle of Hell for stuttering. "I'll be fine alone." I didn't want to think about M, but he was the first thing that popped into my mind when my brain finally registered what I had just agreed to. What if he tried something? Judging by his attitude alone, I wouldn't put something like kidnapping or even rape past him.

"You're sure?" L confirmed, giving me one last chance to save myself.

"Yes, I'll stay alone." Wow. There goes all my self-preservation. _What is wrong with me? _Was it my curiosity taking over? Or was my desire to impress my cousin winning out against my will? L blinked at me owlishly before nodding once, and fluidly exiting my room. As soon as he was gone, I literally fell backwards onto my ivory colored pillow.

I didn't wake up until a little while later, as I heard L dragging a suitcase through the living room. Jumping out of bed, I plodded quietly out of my room, catching L just as he was leaving. "Goodbye, Elliot," I said softly, feeling like a child. L turned around anyways, flashing me his bright, close-lipped smile. I had always envied his smile. It was both childish and endearing. My smile was more like madman's smile, and I only wore it when I was extremely amused.

I didn't even care about the cameras in the living room and kitchen at this point. They could stay there, for all I cared. It wasn't as though I was going to be doing much out there anyways. I was going back to bed.

…

Half an hour later found me sitting on my bedroom floor, playing with some toys that most kids my age would've retired several years ago. I had Legos and little Lego people, along with a few Hot Wheels cars and Transformer robots. I had built a small city, and I was now using a Megatron to destroy it while playing out a battle between Megatron and Optimus Prime.

…_Talk about Peter Pan syndrome…_

I had just begun the climax of the fight when my cell phone rang.

"_Go to bed, Near,_" said a male voice from the other side. The voice was annoyed-sounding, and the sentence was punctuated by a yawn.

"Who is this?" I asked cautiously. The person on the other end started, and yelped. I heard a loud thud and assumed that whoever it was had dropped the phone. "Hello?" I said, warily.

"_Ah, Near,_" Said the voice again. This time, though it was the same familiar voice filter I'd been hearing for…had it only been a week? No, I guess the right question would be, 'Has it _already_ been a week?'

Time sure does fly when you're being stalked like a celebrity.

…_sigh…_

"Oh, so it's you," I replied dryly. "Why am I not surprised?"

"_If you _were_ surprised, I would say you'd lost your touch_."

"How did you get my cell phone number anyways?" I surprised even myself with the question. I hadn't really thought about it since he'd called me before, even if that had been on our landline.

"_Ah, I was wondering when you'd ask that. What are you doing anyways? You should be sleeping. Just because Elliot left doesn't mean all the rules left, too._" I snorted into the phone.

"Two things," I said. "First of all, when did _you_ become my mother? Secondly, you're distracting from the question." I heard him chuckle, nervousness apparent even in the mechanical filter.

"_Uh…I'll tell you later." _Suddenly, his tone brightened, changing the subject._ "Anyways, I thought you wanted to ask me questions._" I groaned, rolling my eyes. I obviously wasn't going to get anywhere with this, so I might as well have gone along with his games.

"Yeah, well that didn't exactly end well the last time," I drawled sarcastically. "And speaking of the last time, what the hell is up with the necklace?"

"_It was a gift. Couldn't you tell_?" I scowled.

"Who said I wanted gifts from you?" I spat. There was a silence for a few moments before M spoke again.

"…_You kept it._" I was struck dumb by that simple sentence. What possible alibi could I come up with for why I'd kept it? Even _I _didn't know why I had.

"So what?"

I could _not_ have possibly come up with a more _stupid_ comeback. I almost physically facepalmed before I remembered that M was most likely watching me somehow. His laughing on the phone was a good enough clue on its own that what I'd said was unintelligent. I didn't need him to see me do something like _that_. That would be like admitting defeat.

"Anyways," I said quickly, cutting off any reply he might've had in store for me. "I have a request."

"_Yes_?" His voice was eager and immediate. I had just barely gotten out the word 'request' when he jumped on the opportunity. My eyebrows knitted together in thought. Was fulfilling a desire of mine really so excitable?

"Please, for the love of all that is Holy, turn off the damned voice filter." He seemed to hesitate before his want to make me happy finally won out. I heard a _beep_ sound, and he spoke again.

"_Is this better?_" M's real voice was natural, masculine, and smooth. I actually shivered.

"Much," I answered. "I don't exactly have a love for voice scramblers." A moment of silence on his end gave me a little time to think about, and blush feverishly at the implications of that sentence. I quickly backtracked (translation: I tried to rephrase, and made myself sound like an idiot). "I-I mean voice scramblers are useful, but kind of i-irritating to the ears." That time I _did_ facepalm, not caring if he saw or not. I knew that he was probably trying to hide his laughter for my sake.

"_I think I got it…_" he said, his tone clearly amused. I pouted for a few moments to myself.

"I just thought about something," I said, seemingly out of nowhere. "What you're doing is entirely contradictory to what you said earlier." I took his silence as a cue to continue. "You said that I should be sleeping, and that I still needed to follow rules even in my cousin's absence."

"_Ahaha, I guess you got me there, Near_," said M. "_I was just under the impression that you didn't like to do what I say_."

"…Touché." I yawned. "In any case, I'm going to sleep." I scooted all my toys against one wall, making a mental note to put them away later.

"_Hey, Near?_" M said, reclaiming my attention. "_Have you noticed that you don't talk the same with me as you do with everyone else?_"

My eyes widened as I thought about it. Now that he had brought it up, I realized that, yeah, I _did_ talk to him differently. I was much more casual than I was with anyone when I talked to M. I even talked to _L _as though I were a human thesaurus, or a robot. Mostly, though, with L, it was so that I could impress him by staying on his wavelength. L used big words and complicated sentences naturally, as though it were common to do so.

Okay, so I talked to M differently…what did that mean?

"Uh…okay…" I sounded pathetic, honestly, even to myself. This time, however, I didn't try and correct myself and make myself look like a blithering moron for the second time that night.

"_Goodnight_." I froze. Every time before this I had answered his usual '_goodnight_' with a very rude 'I'm hanging up now!'. What was I supposed to say now? We'd had a civilized conversation, during which some of my acrimony towards him had begun to fade. However, I still didn't exactly like him, per say. We were _NOT_ friends, and were _**SO**_ not anything more.

But, our relationship didn't feel so much like a "stalker and stalked" situation anymore.

So, in all my unsociable glory, I slammed the phone shut.

…_Dammit…_

* * *

><p>The day after that, I woke up at nine o' clock, groggy, but otherwise well rested. The smell of food woke me up instantly, though. Why would the apartment smell like food? L wasn't home, and even if he was, the place would smell like sugar and cake if anything. This was a smell like actual breakfast food—like eggs and bacon, you know?<p>

I jumped out of bed and ran into the living room. Laid out on it was a plate overflowing with scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast.

_What. The. HELL?_

I was torn between three things.

I was kind of touched that M had thought to do this for me. I mean, who else could it have been?

I was practically exploding with fury. M had the _impudence _to come into my _home_ without permission?

I was STARVING. Eventually, the last conflicting emotion (or rather physical feeling) won out, and I sighed in defeat before sitting down to eat. Somewhere in my subconscious, I registered that the food was still hot, meaning that it'd been laid out very recently. Another part of my brain told my subconscious to shut the hell up so it could enjoy the meal.

And boy did I. I hadn't had actual breakfast food in ages. L didn't really care much for the stuff himself (except French toast, and he didn't know how to make that either, so he usually ordered some from a delivery restaurant before drowning it all in syrup), so he didn't usually have it in the apartment. I had tried to learn to make it once…

…let's just say, the fire department wasn't too happy with me _or_ L. Considering I had been eight at the time, I think their feelings were justified.

The point is, I hadn't had an actual meal that wasn't something quickly whipped up, or easily made in forever. I think the closest thing to breakfast I'd eaten in my time with L was the chocolate cereal he bought.

When I was done, I stared at my empty plate for a few moments before getting up to deposit it in the sink. I didn't feel like washing it right that second.

The rest of the day was quiet, undisturbed. I worked on cases dutifully and, during small breaks, played with my toys (I _did_ pick up the ones from the night before, like I said). By the time five o'clock had rolled around, I was starting to get hungry. Coincidentally, that was also the time that a certain letter decided to grace me with a phone call.

"_Hey, Near_," he addressed me casually. "_Did you enjoy your breakfast?_" I felt myself flush a bit at the question.

"…yes…" I grumbled. "But don't do that again! You nearly gave me a heart attack with that! Don't come into my apartment without permission like that again!" I felt like a mother scolding her son, which was kind of disturbing considering our situation.

"_Aw,_" M whined in mock hurt. "_And here I was hoping that I could come make dinner for you_." I rolled my eyes.

"No," I said flatly. "And tell M2 to quit smoking those cancer sticks." Don't you just love how a conversation can take so many different pathways? Honestly, I don't really know where that one came from. I just needed something else to complain about.

"_Dude, I've tried. It doesn't work._" I could tell he was trying not to laugh, and I thought I heard M2's voice from somewhere in the background.

"Whatever," I pouted. "Have you put in new cameras since yesterday?" The silence on the other end was all the confirmation I needed. I sighed, rolling my eyes. "…Never mind. Is there anything else you wanted?"

"…_Not really. Just to talk to you_." My heart jumped. "_Well, I'll talk to you later._" The line went dead.

Did he really care for me like that? It was a foreign concept to me, entirely. I don't remember a time in my life when someone said that they just wanted to talk to me. I don't think anyone ever _had_ come up to me, or called, just to talk to me. There was always something else involved. Usually it involved me doing homework.

If there was one thing I was sure of at this point, it was that M was an anomaly.


	6. Thunderstorms and Legos

**A/N: Okay, so I'm going to have to apologize for the iminent yeild in updates. The only reason that the first five chapters came out so quickly was because I already had them written. I had this one ready to go, too, but I wanted to have a back up plan just in case I needed more time. Well...I needed more time. So here you go! An update to hold you over!**

**I just about suffocated on all the fluff in this chapter, and if anyone has issues with it, or any other aspect of this chapter, I would really appreciate it if you would tell me.**

**Disclaimer: I ran out of quotes, so I'll say this: If I owned Death Note, then L would've pwned Light without Near/Mello/Matt's help...Okay, maybe that isn't true, I like the Wammys. But L sure has hell wouldn't be dead.**

* * *

><p>I woke up later that night to thunder.<p>

No—more accurately, I jolted upright in my bed as the first clap assaulted my ears. My eyes widened and I scrambled to cover my head with my arms. I pulled my legs up to my body, letting out a yelp as the next round of thunder began. I could feel myself shaking. The loud noise was petrifying.

_BANG!_ Even though it felt pathetic, I felt myself whimpering. I sat through four more claps with the same reaction. The blood rushing in my ears was deafening. So much so that the only sound I was registering was the crashing noise that succeeded each flash of lightening. That was why I didn't hear my window opening—why I wasn't prepared for the sudden warmth around me. My eyes opened wide as I felt someone lay down next to me on my bed, wrapping their arms around me.

"M?" I whispered hoarsely. At that moment, another clap of thunder resonated outside of the window, making me close my eyes instinctively and tighten my grip on my ears. Despite my more sensible impulses, I buried my face into his chest. There was no doubt at this point. It was M, no matter how you looked at it. At my sign of alarm, his arms only got tighter around me, and I relished in the comfort they provided.

"Near?" he said gently. "Are you okay?" I shook my head, and I felt sobs begin to rack through my body. I felt like a five year old. "Right, stupid question…" He chastised himself. Instead of trying to speak anymore, he pulled me into his lap, tugging the blanket up and over me. I continued to tremble and quietly sob with fright, but it wasn't like before. My breathing was slowly returning to its normal pace, though it was still uneven.

I kept clinging to my only source of comfort as though I was a drowning man and he was a life raft, for a while. I wasn't really aware of how long it was. The only thing I was really conscious of was that there were strong, gentle arms surrounding me, protecting me from the monstrous growls of the vicious storm raging just outside my bedroom window. My head had somehow made it onto his shoulder, and I could feel his hand stroking my hair.

"Near?" a mild, masculine voice broke through my tired stupor.

"Hm?"

"Are you alright now?" I could hear the hesitance in his voice, as though he were afraid that I would jump away from him in rage at any time. I nodded my head into his shoulder, taking a deep breath.

"I'm fine." I said, my voice hoarse from crying. I didn't make any move to remove myself from him.

He may or may not have realized it, but he was granting me something I'd been unconsciously craving in all the years I'd lived with L. He was showing me, and letting me show physical affection. It was something I knew I'd been missing out on, and had missed.

M…who was he? What kind of person was he? He obviously wasn't normal. I mean, come on, he 'liked' me. _Me_. To the point where he had willingly calmed me down when I was faced with what was childishly my biggest fear. Where was the sense in that? It seemed universal to make fun of me, and hurt me, and hate me. The only person I'd ever had that treated me otherwise was L, the socially inept detective whose best friend was cake. And maybe Watari.

I wanted to look up at him, to see how he looked, see his age; I wanted to see everything that could be linked to a face and its expressions. I'd only ever met this person over the phone. That wasn't enough for me to know anything about him. A voice can only reveal so much, especially when the majority of the time I'd heard it, it had been electronically scrambled.

Despite what I wanted, my tired muscles refused to comply. Now that I was thinking about it, I realized that I was exhausted. The episode I'd just gone through only made my fatigue worse. And so, I fell asleep.

I fell asleep in my stalker's arms, willingly.

_What the hell is wrong with my life_?

* * *

><p>The next morning, upon waking up, I found myself devoid of any outside warmth. My eyes opened blearily, and within moments I was fully awake.<p>

"M?" I couldn't help but call. I looked around my room, and got out of bed when I didn't see him in there. It felt like he had just been there…hadn't he? Had he been there at all? Suddenly, a horrible thought slapped me in the face and made me sick to my stomach.

What if it had all been a dream? No, worse than that—what if it had all been a dream and M had been watching me as I slept, and was secretly laughing at my weakness when it came to a little thunderstorm?

I was brought out of my reverie by the sounds of movement outside my bedroom. My eyebrows turned down in curiosity. "M…?" I tried again.

Even though this time there was still no answer, I wasn't disappointed as I looked into the kitchen. Shocked, yes, but not disappointed.

There _was_ someone there, making pancakes on the stove.

It was _not_ who I expected.

"M-Mello?"

I was dumbstruck. The first thing I thought, was "I AM AN IDIOT!". That thought was repeated several times until it was thoroughly engraved in my mind.

Long, blonde hair? Check.

Young adult? Check.

Seemed strong? Check.

His appearance matched the description he and Jacob had given me to a T.

And I'd _already seen him before_. I don't think I'd ever been so mortifyingly stupid, ever in my life before then. Which was why I wasn't saying anything, wasn't moving, and wasn't doing anything besides cursing me, and my idiocy.

Mello himself was in the clothes he had been wearing the first two times I'd seen him. He seemed to have a likeness for the outfit. And the silver rosary was still in place. The guy was virtually unchanged. This fact only increased my irritation with myself.

After a few moments of sitting there, staring sightlessly at the plate of pancakes drowned in syrup that Mello had placed in front of me. Even though I wasn't looking, I could tell that he was gazing expectantly at me, waiting for me to make a move. This was the pivotal moment. Our relationship was like an amateur tightrope walker about to fall. Something would happen, and the acrobat would fall to one side or the other.

"Um…Near…?" Mello began, uncomfortably. Something inside me snapped at that moment and I looked up, locking our eyes together.

"Why didn't you tell be before?" The blonde looked utterly thrown.

"H—Huh?" he said stupidly. "What d'you—?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about!" I snapped. His mouth shut instantly, and his blue eyes trained on me. "We met before you started calling yourself M," I continued. "Why didn't you say anything? What's been the point of this whole stupid charade if you were just going to give it up in the end?" I could visibly see the hurt in Mello's eyes, and I knew what he must've been thinking.

Really, he must not've been planning to give himself away like he had. It had probably been a last minute decision that centered around me. And honestly, if I had been thinking clearly, I probably wouldn't have said all that. But I was in shock, and I had just found out that the stalker that I had been fearing was someone that I had already met.

Then there was the whole issue about the fact that he'd been stalking me in the first place…

"N-Near…" he tried, weakly. "I'm sorry. But I knew that you wouldn't want anything to do with me if I told you straight out. And I wasn't planning to give it up!" I stubbornly kept the scowl on my face as indignance seeped into his voice. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a slightly more sheepish tone. "I just saw you like that last night…" he hesitated. "And I couldn't just stand by and watch. I do care about you, Near."

Something connected as he said "…just stand by and watch…", and I felt my eyes widen.

"Wait a second!" I burst out, ignoring the heartfelt sentence he'd just uttered. "You were the one who shot out the window in the mall, weren't you!" I wasn't sure whether I should feel angry, touched, or amazed. In the end, I settled for amazed; it was the least emotionally inclined reaction I could have.

Mello crossed his arms, and I saw a bit of a blush on the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, so what?" he admitted...kind of.

There was silence for a moment, while I tried to figure out what reaction to have. If my theory was correct, he'd been watching me and had done it to help me (can you say "overkill"?), and I couldn't very well reprimand him for that (well, I suppose I could, but it would be like berating him for saving me a beating). So other than that, I wasn't really sure what else I could say to him.

As far as I knew, Mello wasn't a bad guy, but he seemed _very_ defensive. He'd gone so far as to cause public pandemonium, just to help me escape a bully. And despite his recklessly drastic personality, he did seem to be a good person.

So, rather than continue to try in vain to sort through the pandemonium in my head, I just sighed, dropping my head down to stare at the plate in front of me.

"Can I have some milk?"

After watching me down the breakfast he made me (which he did with a weird, focused look), Mello left, with the excuse that if he didn't get back to M2 (whose name, he told me, was really Matt), then the redhead would starve to death while engulfed in video games if Mello wasn't there to pry him away from the television screen.

I bid him goodbye pleasantly, wondering what would become of us. Obviously I wasn't about to fall in love with him after a few encounters, but I didn't really hate him anymore. Was it possible that we could be friends?

I shook my head free of all the complicated thoughts, and decided to find something else to do that would completely claim my full attention. It was Saturday, and all my homework was totally complete. I didn't feel like going out again, knowing that this time, if I was attacked, my self-proclaimed body-guard wouldn't be around to protect me again. I could always work on cases for L while he was gone…I decided to stick to that for a while, even though I knew that it would eventually get boring.

Ten solved cases later (including drug trafficking, high-profile kidnappings, and terrorists, in case you're interested), I sighed, setting down a file folder. Being a detective was definitely a challenge, but it lost appeal after a few consecutive hits.

So, what else was I to turn to but my toys?

I don't remember much about the next hour (or two), because I was so focused on my Lego constructions. I had built several towers up to just below my actual height, mimicking the tall skyscrapers farther into the urban city that I lived in. By the time I blinked myself back into real life, I had practically built a scale model of the whole city in my room, and I was extending the project into the living room.

A thought hit me, and I smiled as a plan formed in my head. It would keep me busy for an indefinite amount of time, and I definitely had enough Lego blocks to accomplish it. That was a perk that came from being as wealthy as we were, and yet having to pay so little in living expenses.

I carefully stepped over the miniature city in my room, making my way to the closet. I gently nudged the door open, reaching inside to grab the large blue bin inside.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

><p><strong>Sigh. I'm not too pleased with the outcome of this chapter, but I can't say I don't like it at all. I have to warn you that the next chapter or two will probably be devoted to filler. Sorry. I just need adequit (or however you spell it) time to come up with a transition plot.<strong>

**So, in the meantime, I'm going to give you some good old healthy filler. ;)**

**~Luke Benz**


	7. Super Legos and Fried Brains

**I think **_**MakePaaastaNotwar**_** really captured in their review the point I was trying to make about Near:**

_In chapter 2, you were saying that Near is kind of OOC, but I totally disagree. Whenever he speaks or interacts with other people, he acts exactly like Near would. His inner-monologue is very different from his usual personality, but I think that's just perfect. I mean, the whole point of Near is that he's stoic and no one knows what's going on in his head. He can't be completely void of emotions, then he just wouldn't be human. It makes sense that he would be different inside his own head, where no one can hear him. I think you captured him perfectly._

**Thanks for that! That's what I was going for, but I couldn't put it into words very well…Oh, but I guess I should apologize for this chapter. Near does act a little bit weird about halfway through, and I attribute that to the fact that stress and exhaustion from his…er, **_**project**_** (that is also mentioned below) are finally catching up to him. He can't live a somewhat normal life and still manage to be like L-the-super-insomniac. Near needs sleep.**

**Also, I think Near is very, VERY OOC in this chapter. You may disagree, but my opinion stands.**

**And now I will apologize for the length of this A/N. You don't want to listen to me ramble, do you? You wanna find out what happens next!**

**Disclaimer: Ryuzaki! I realize that I was the one who put the disclaimer here, but now I realize it's pointless! It's pointless because I don't own Death Note! Please, take the disclaimer down!**

**L: I'm sorry, Luke-kun, but you made me promise that I wouldn't take down the disclaimer no matter what condition you were in, or what you said.**

**Luke: I know that, but I'm telling you, I don't own Death Note! Now please, take it down so I can help you find the real owners!**

**L: Obata Takeshi-sama, and Ohba Tsugumi-sama?**

**Luke: Oh...right...**

* * *

><p>Mello returned sometime that evening, and I only know that because when I saw him open the door, I could see the dark night sky behind him. Rather than get annoyed that he had walked in without permission, or even knocking to announce his presence, I returned my full focus to the construction of the Lego Amusement Park I was building.<p>

Only when I heard a gasp did I tear my concentration away from the miniature park. I glanced up at the blonde, smirking at his awestruck face.

"I'm assuming you're surprised?" I mused. "I would've thought you'd be watching me." Mello didn't answer immediately, only giving a slight shake of his head as a reaction. Instead, he feasted his eyes upon the Lego filled room. The whole thing branched off from my bedroom, merging into a huge metropolis.

The entire living room floor was filled with green Legos meant to signify grass, while multicolored blocks made patterned skyscrapers, some of which reached almost to the ceiling. Blocks had even been stacked onto the table, forming a sort of hill, on which rested a large beautiful house—or rather, _mansion_.

"Wow…" Mello said quietly. "How long did it take you to make all this?" I thought about it.

"What time is it now?" I asked, twirling my hair. Mello pulled out a cell phone, flipping it open.

"It's nine-thirty." I raised my eyebrows. I had really been at it for _that _long? I clicked another Lego into place.

"About eight and a half hours," I reckoned. He whistled, impressed. I had to admit, that once I was wholly concentrating on my task, I could get a lot done in a short amount of time. "I started a few hours after your departure."

Mello shot me an annoyed look. "…Man, you've got _way_ too much time on your hands." I blinked at the blonde. He sure was quick to switch moods. I mean, one minute, he's awestruck at my talents with building blocks, and the next he's annoyed at me? Am I the only one who sees that as a bit weird?

In any case, I chose that time to continue adding blue Legos to a rollercoaster arch. For a few minutes, the room was silent, and I had begun to wonder what Mello was doing behind my back, when I heard him yawn. I glanced over my shoulder and sure enough, he was leaning on one hand for support, his eyelids beginning to droop, though it was obvious that he was trying to fight it. And despite the fact that the blonde was obviously intent on watching the Lego masterpiece be completed, I could tell that he was physically torn between his want to watch me work, and his need for rest.

When he didn't stray from his place, I sighed, turning around as I lowered a block to the ground. "Mello," I said firmly. His eyes opened a bit wider and he sat up straight. "I want you to go back to wherever it is that you live…" his eyes widened a bit, and I could see hurt beginning to seep into his eyes. "…and get some sleep." Realization replaced the hurt immediately.

"Alri—," he cut off with a yawn before continuing. "Alright," he said again.

I watched his back as he stood up drunkenly, staggering over to the door before opening it. A pang of something hit me in the chest.

"Mello!" I exclaimed. "Wait." He turned around, giving me an inquisitive look in his half dozed state. I sighed annoyedly.

"On second thought, you should probably stay here," I said. I saw the blonde's eyes light up in what must've been hope before I, just barely realizing it, stomped all over his anticipation by continuing. "If you try and go anywhere in this condition, you'll either cause a car accident, or get jumped. Depending on your mode of transportation, that is." Immediately, his expression soured, but he sighed in agreement anyways.

"Fine," he said. "But considering the fact that your couch is kind of occupied at the moment, and the floor is _also _covered in Legos, I hope you have a suitable place for me to stay." Internally, I swore.

_Damn it! _I thought. _I didn't think about that! Now what am I supposed to do he can't sleep in L's room, and there's no room on the floors—!_

Seemingly instantaneously, I was shot through the head with realization. There was only one available option.

…_Shit…_

Now please bear in mind, my bed is pretty big. It's not a twin-sized, it's a queen. And so there was plenty of room for the two of us to share a bed without issue.

That didn't, however, excuse the fact that it was horribly awkward. I mean, didn't I _just_ get done saying that I _wasn't_ into him? Didn't I make it clear enough that I _didn't_ like him that way? And then I go and tell him that he's got to sleep in the same bed as me?

_This day just gets better and better…_

I knew that he probably wouldn't try anything, don't get me wrong. He'd slept in my bed the night before, too, and he'd actually been _holding on to me_ that time. And as embarrassing as that was to remember, it was also my consolation that I would wake up in the morning with all my clothes on.

And besides all the things that were just plan _not right_ about sharing my bed with the man who'd been stalking me for God-knows-how-long, I swear to God, the man had fucking restless leg syndrome to its highest extent. Every ten minutes, so it seemed, he would kick out agitatedly, usually making contact with my knee or shin. The worst part, though, was that he was already _asleep_. So I couldn't really blame him, or scold him for that matter.

"Ouch! Dammit, stop that!"

Well, I could try. That didn't mean it would be effective. After the umpteenth time his food had made contact with my knee, I sat straight up in bed giving Mello a rough shake by the shoulders, forcing him awake. He seemed ordinarily groggy and disoriented.

"…eh?" was the only response he could give to being woken up at—I checked the clock—midnight while in the middle of what he probably thought was a deep and peaceful sleep.

"Will you stop kicking me, _please_?" Even though my exhausted voice was practically dripping with rage already, I managed to squeeze a little extra venom into my exaggerated "please".

Mello tilted his head to the side, still seemingly half asleep. "Whatever…" he mumbled. I groaned.

Sure enough, I was assaulted again approximately eight minutes later. "That's it!" I exclaimed, startling Mello into half-alertness. "I'm going to Elliot's room!" I left my bedroom muttering under my breath about how I couldn't wait until the idiot was gone in the morning, and cursing the blonde every which way possible.

That's another thing about me. Usually I'm stoic and unemotional with the people around me(with the exception of Mello, who usually drew anger or annoyance out of me). But when I'm sleep deprived and exhausted, and _especially_ if I'm annoyed in addition, I am _extremely _hypertensive_._ I can't even count on two hands the number of times I'd caught L making a ruckus in the kitchen late at night (as I've mentioned before), and practically gone hostile on him. I remember once when I was nine when I actually bared my teeth at him like an animal.

So, yes. _Extremely low blood pressure_.

Eventually, though, I cooled down and flopped my tired form down onto L's rarely used bed. So rarely used, in fact, I had to brush a bit of dust off of the bedspread. After burrowing deep into the soft comforter, I buried my face into the pillow, yawning. No more RLS-induced bruises, courtesy of my newest "friend". Thank God.

Unfortunately for me, though, I woke up a few hours later, feeling more tired than I had felt when I'd retreated to bed. I glanced over at L's bedside clock. 8:23am. I groaned, flopping my face back down into the fluffy pillow that adorned the head of L's bed.

Have you ever been so exhausted on a Friday night, that you didn't even want to think about staying up late? And then, you went to bed, but just couldn't sleep? And then, you wake up entirely too early the next morning?

…and can't _freaking _get back to sleep?

Welcome to my lovely, lovely life.

I just kind of laid there for a little while, until the clock announced that it was 8:45 am. Thankfully, though, Mello wasn't in the house anymore, and had even been kind enough to make my bed and start clearing the Legos out of the living room. Even though I kind of wanted to be mad (what if I had wanted to finish building? I hadn't, of course, but still…), I just couldn't do it. I was too tired. And honestly, I had a feeling that he knew that I didn't want to finish something I'd abandoned the night before.

After eating a quick bowl of cereal, without checking to see what kind it was, I showered and got dressed. I wasn't really planning on going anywhere, but it couldn't hurt to be prepared to leave if I changed my mind.

The next two hours were spent clearing out the rest of the Legos from the living room, followed by a sandwich before I moved on to putting away the city I'd constructed in my own room. By the time I'd finished, it was only one o'clock in the afternoon, and I was once again wallowing in boredom.

Then, because I was still dog-tired, plus the extra work I'd done earlier on, I decided that a catnap wouldn't hurt.

As you probably noticed, there wasn't much description in the above text as to my day. That's because not only did I do nothing but what I stated before, but I did it so monotonously that detail would be pointless. I worked like a robot, moving mechanically as needed to gather up a pile of the colorful plastic toys and drop them in a bin.

Anyways, Mello and Matt showed up later on, and at the same time, strangely. It was weird seeing them together, and their appearances clashed drastically, as well as their attitudes. Somehow, though, they complimented each other.

Mello was clad in form-fitting leather, and was fully accessorized with his rosary and chocolate, his blonde hair looking clean and brushed. Matt looked quite the opposite. He was in a striped shirt underneath a fluffy-looking white body-warmer, with jeans and sneakers. His red hair was mussed and looked greasy, and it looked like his goggles had left a permanent indent. A cigarette was hanging out of his mouth while his fingers tapped away at the buttons on a PSP.

And while Mello radiated confidence and superiority (and intimidation), Matt gave off a sort of calm, laid back aura, while also sending the message that he wasn't to be messed with. The "stay away from me" factor was probably all they had in common.

And I was so surprised to see them, that when I opened the door (Mello had actually bothered to knock that time), I just kind of stood there, dazed.

"Hey, kid, can we come in?" Matt asked good-naturedly. I tilted my head to the side.

"Huh?" I said stupidly. I'm sure that some part of my brain was cursing foully at me for my own idiocy, but I couldn't hear it at the time. Matt walked in anyways, and Mello followed.

"What's wrong with you this morning?" Mello asked, eyeing me strangely. I cocked my head to the side like a puppy, trying (and failing) to process what he'd just said. He started to look a little bit concerned in a "weirded-out" kind of way when I didn't respond. "Uh…Near?"

My eyes trailed to Matt as he chuckled, putting out his cigarette on a plate that had somehow gotten to the table. While Mello had been fretting over me, he'd kicked off his shoes and taken a seat, propping his feat up on the table as he leaned back against a wall, playing his PSP.

"Isn't it obvious?" the redhead questioned rhetorically. Mello looked at him expectantly. "His brain is fried. All the weirdness and stress about this whole situation has finallytaken its toll." He sighed between amused chuckles. "Your boyfriend has regressed to robot-state."

Even though I was in "robot-state" as Matt had put it, I still managed to blush furiously at the comment, as well as mentally curse the bastard in every language I knew. Even though I was screaming in my head, I stayed silent on the outside, looking down with a sudden interest in my socks. The situation was already delicate, as he'd already stated, so why the _hell_ would he bring up something like that?

_Maybe it's true what they say. _I thought. _Maybe some gingers really _don't_ have souls_. _Not this guy, anyways._

"Shut the hell up, Matt!" Mello yelled from beside me. I stole a glance at him, and noticed that his face was beet red. Our reactions only seemed to add fuel to the fire, because Matt's chuckles broke into loud guffaws at our expense.

At this point, I think it's safe to say that I had emerged from my brain-dead shell, enough to have the sense to walk away and hide. After a moment of contemplation, I did so, choosing to seek sanctuary in my room. I flopped down onto my bed, practically suffocating myself with the pillow.

"Please, God," I prayed, my voice harshly muffled. "Let this _not_ be a regular thing with those two."

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, so I apologize if any redheads out there got offended by Near's sarcastic remark about gingers and their souls. That does not, in any way, reflect my own beliefs andor opinions.**

**I just got thinking about my friend Jack…heheheheheh, he's always saying "Ginger's DO have souls!" at the randomest times, and I thought of Matt.**

**As usual, please review and stuff. I'm kind of discouraged by the lack of response since I posted the last chapter…don't hate me! Please!**

**But thank you to the few who **_**did**_** review! It means a lot!**


	8. Dancing Onto a Battlefeild

**Hello, my wonderfully fabulous readers! I apologize for the wait, but this chapter refused to be written. I don't even like it all too much, but my opinion as the author is rather biased, I'd say. Whether or not it's good is up to you guys, I guess. I've already started on Chapter 9, so the wait (coughhopefullycough) shouldn't be quite as long, especially since I've actually got an idea of where the story is going. I know I've told some of you that I was going to do a chapter that was Matt's POV of when he released Near from the dreaded locker of doom, but I'm thinkin' it's too late in the story for that. And that was a last-resort, thing anyways. But I have ideas, now! Mind you, however, that this story is only vaguely planned out. So I'm pretty much writing off the top of my pretty little head.**

**Please enjoy, and tell me if you don't (or if you do. I love to inflate my own head). Now enough of my babbling! Onward, Fanfic!**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I have run out of witty quotes from the Death Note plot to use in the disclaimer. Suggestions would be greatly appreciated, but I still don't own Death Note. Thank you, and have a nice day.**

* * *

><p>Needless to say, Mello made frequent visits during the time that L was gone. After my cousin returned, though, I only received a phone call here and there. And I had to say, I was kind of relieved. Even though I was gradually growing used to it (to some extent), having Mello and Matt in my apartment was kind of strange.<p>

Okay, _way_ strange. And what was frankly kind of disturbing was that sometimes I'd wake up with the 'M' necklace around my neck. I mean, I already had come to good terms with Mello, and he was _still_ pulling this crap? How had he even managed to do it while L was in the house? L only slept maybe five hours a week, and usually they were all at once. Though I guess he might be a little unaware while he was focusing on cases…

Anyways, after a couple weeks of them not constantly being around me (though Mello would walk me to school occasionally, like there was nothing strange about the arrangement at all), I could already feel the boredom setting in. It wasn't like there was nothing going on (because the football team had a pep rally once a week, and there were dances popping up left and right), but it was only stuff that would interest normal teenagers. And as I'm sure you'll agree, my mindset is absolutely _not_ normal.

I was just about to give in to the monotony one morning, when Mello popped up seemingly out of nowhere, and began walking beside me. Honestly, I didn't even notice him until he started talking. That resulted in me jumping at the sound of his voice, and immediately cursing at myself for not paying attention.

"A little tense?" he teased, seemingly pleased that my soul had jumped out of my body. I scowled, not bothering to answer his question. The silence lasted a few seconds before Mello began talking again. I'd gathered in the time that I'd known him that he didn't like silences, and would usually be the first to talk just to break one. "Why are you in High School?" he asked absent mindedly.

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" I asked, confusedly.

Mello shoved his gloved hands into his pockets, bringing his left one back out, now clutching a chocolate bar. He tore the wrapper with his teeth, spitting it on the ground (with no intention of picking it up) before he started walking again. I followed him, not realizing that I'd stopped again.

"I mean, why are you in High School?" he repeated, annoyed. "It doesn't seem like that hard of a concept to follow."

I rolled my eyes. "I know what the question means," I responded. "It's just that I figured that you'd know how smart I am, seeing as you've been watching me for a while." I began to twirl a piece of hair as I thought. "Come to think of it, I remember that we talked on the phone once, and I said 'Why am I not surprised?' when I realized it was you. Then you said that if I had been surprised, you would've thought I'd lost my touch. Could it be that your memory is not as sufficient as I assumed?"

Mello crossed his arms. "Shut up!" he growled, his face heating (though it seemed more like anger than embarrassment this time). "I was going to say that you're too smart for High School, but if you're going to be an ass about it—!" He didn't really get to finish the sentence, because out of nowhere, Matt dropped down onto Mello's back, tackling him to the ground. I didn't waver, but inside I screamed like a little girl.

"What the _hell_!" the blonde choked. Matt gave a satisfied smile before crossing his legs, still using Mello as a chair. I kind of felt bad for my ex-stalker. Matt didn't look that heavy, but that was in relation to his height. Overall, he must've weighed around a hundred and ten, maybe 15, pounds, if not more than that. And Mello definitely looked lighter, probably due to more activity. Like I said before, Matt seemed to be the type to laze around unless absolutely necessary.

"Hi Near!" The redhead said cheerily. I was about to respond, when Mello's rage finally lent him enough strength to shove Matt off of him.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Mello all but exploded. Matt didn't seemed fazed at all, standing up and brushing off his pants. "You think it's funny tryin' to break my spine or somethin' you stupid idiot!"

Matt stuck a cigarette in his mouth, not bothering to light it. "Ah, feeling redundant today, are we?" This only set the blonde off even more. I could practically see flames coming from his mouth.

"You damn bastard!" Mello reached into his pocket, pulling out a gun. I felt my eyes widen as he cocked it and aimed it at Matt, who was still ignoring him, choosing instead to turn his attention towards some form of gaming system. My mind didn't really care enough to pay attention to what kind it was.

"Mello…" I warned, glancing around. Thankfully, the blonde caught my drift, sliding the gun back into his pocket. I gulped inaudibly, giving a tiny sigh of relief.

"Now that your temper tantrum is over," Matt said, already pushing Mello's buttons. "I actually had something serious I wanted to talk to you about." Instantly, Mello was listening with full attention. I raised an eyebrow. Obviously it was a good idea to indulge Matt when he said he was serious. The gaming-slacker personality must not have gone as far as I'd thought.

"I got a tip that Ross has been looking for you," Matt continued. "He's had his flunkies scouring the city because someone tipped him off that you were here." Mello muttered a curse before stopping to think.

"Who is Ross?" I asked Matt, discreetly, hoping that he would keep quiet. It was kind of awkward to ask him that, because really, I was the only one of the three of us who had no idea what was going on. And not knowing what was going on was an entirely new concept to me.

"Rod Ross, the Mafia Boss," the gamer responded, rhyming in a singsong-y tune. Instantly, my brain made the connection, and I started remembering everything I knew about the criminal. He was a bald, middle-aged career criminal who had made a permanent residence of L.A.'s underbelly.

And…he was looking for Mello?

I stared at the blonde, who was still thinking, and nibbling thoughtfully on a chocolate bar. I turned my gaze to Matt, who had a knowing, and expectant look on his face. I thought about it carefully, my mind sliding all the pieces together gradually.

Mello was…a Mafioso? I sighed, acknowledging the truth. Mello, the man who had been stalking me up until about a month ago, and who could now fully be recognized as my friend, was a part of the mafia.

Matt smiled, nodding, and I remember thinking absently that it was the kind of look you'd see on some badass movie character's face right around the time that a hard rock instrumental would start.

…

Hey, I may be a genius, but it's not as though I've _never_ seen a movie before.

Anyways, Mello seemed to come to an epiphany at around the same time, though he didn't look at all happy about it.

"Matt…" he began drearily. "…We're gonna hafta leave, huh?" Matt shrugged.

"I'm just the techie," the redhead said, tapping ashes off the cigarette I'd forgotten he had. "You usually come up with the plans. And I think that if you get a few minutes to do some hard thinking, you'll come up with something."

"That wasn't 'hard thinking'?" I asked, tilting my head to the side slightly. Matt laughed.

"Nope," he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "You should see this guy when he gets going! He paces, and talks to himself too." I glanced over to Mello.

Needless to say, he didn't seem too happy about Matt's comments. He wasn't in an explosive rage like last time, but he was definitely steaming. His face was red, and I could see a vein pulsing in his head. Vaguely, I thought that if there was an award for the world's highest blood pressure, Mello could win in a heartbeat, provided Matt was there to piss him off.

Then again, a lot of things seemed to piss him off.

"Well, we can't stay in one place for long," Mello said between gritted teeth. "We don't necessarily have to leave the city, but we do need to be on the lookout." Matt rolled his eyes.

"Jesus, Mels, I coulda told you that," he complained. "I think Near is throwing you off your game today." I rolled my eyes, and Mello slapped Matt in the back of his head.

"Shut the hell up, Matt," he said annoyedly. "I'll think of something soon! I'm just not in a good mood right now, and you're not helping."

"When are you ever in a good mood?"

"I said shut up!" Mello's face and neck were a brilliant shade of crimson by this point, and I had a feeling that Matt was hiding bruises all over from constantly subjecting himself to Mello's wrath. "I've had a lot to deal with lately, and you know it, so shut up!" Matt basically went into standby mode right then, turning away from the blonde and devoting all his attention to his game. Fortunately, Mello's color started to lighten a bit.

"Hey," I said, drawing attention to me. "I hate to break up a lovers' quarrel, but I really need to get to school." I ignored the rant that Mello went on after my last statement, walking away from the two and towards the school. Surprisingly, neither of them followed me.

* * *

><p>"Um, you're Near, right?" I looked up from the lunch table, where I was stacking dice. I gave the girl standing in front of me a look that clearly said "You must be stupid if you're asking me that."<p>

Even though she'd just said something unfathomably dumb (at least in my book), I took a moment to look at her. She had thin, mousy brown hair that was pulled down into two pigtails. Her eyes were a startling shade of turquoise, and she wasn't very tall. She looked very plain, and not that confident.

Once I'd taken a good look at her, some part of my mind registered that I didn't know who she was. She must've either transferred schools, or was just really, _really_ good at hiding.

Anyways, she obviously got the meaning of my stare, which made her blush heavily. "I-I mean, uh, I just—!"

I cut her off. "Miss, I would appreciate it if you would end your senseless babble as soon as possible." I didn't really care that it was rude; it was true all the same. The girl blushed even harder, but shut up nonetheless.

"I-I'm sorry…" she said quietly, looking down. I rolled my eyes. She sighed, seemingly defeated, before starting over.

"Um, my name is Louisa Vasquez," she said. I blinked, which she must've taken as a sign to continue. "I—uh…can I sit here?" she pulled out the open chair next to me. I raised an eyebrow, but gave a nod anyways. Louisa hurriedly sat down, and began fiddling with one of her ponytails. I wanted to ask her what her problem was, or why she would want to sit by me. However, before I got the chance, she started talking again.

"Um…" she started. I opened my mouth to tell her to quit saying 'um', but she cut me off again. "I was wondering…if you didn't already have a date…" I raised an eyebrow again. Where was _this_ conversation going? "…if you'd…like to go to the upcoming dance with me…?"

I felt my eyes widen infinitesimally, and I think I actually might have blushed a bit. I stayed silent, my mind reeling.

_Wh-what!_ Was what I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue, knowing all too well how that would pan out.

So instead, I thought about it. Why would some red-faced sputtering girl come and ask _me_ on a date? In any case, wasn't it usually the guy who instigated such a thing?

But…_why?_

"Uh…_What_?"

I mentally facepalmed as the word made its way out of my mouth, betraying all of the shock and confusion I felt at the moment. The very thing I _didn't_ want to say had come spilling out of my throat like vomit. It tasted about as vile, too. At this point, I actually felt my face heat up.

A few tables away, I heard loud, flamboyant laughter coming from some of my biggest (and I mean that quite literally) tormentors, the sports teams. Now it wasn't just the typical cliché football jocks that I was talking about. That included the soccer, volleyball, and basketball teams as well. And for a total, that was a lot of people.

"The little freak is red as an apple!" shouted one kid. I ignored them to the best of my ability, though every comment made my usually pale skin turn a shade darker.

"Oh!" Louisa fretted, throwing her crimson-stained face into her hands. "I knew I should've done this somewhere else!"

_Then why didn't you, you idiot?_ I couldn't help but think. I kept my gaze low, making it so that my hair covered the majority of my face.

"U-uh, I'll think about it," I muttered, standing up. I collected the dice I'd long since abandoned, stuffing them into one of my pockets before grabbing my backpack and exiting the cafeteria at a harried pace. My hasty retreat must've been funny, because I don't think there was a person in that damned cafeteria who wasn't laughing.

Except possibly Louisa Vasquez…

* * *

><p>I don't think that "hellish" would accurately describe the rest of my day. Ever since Mello had threatened everyone in my school into submission, no one had physically harassed me, but that didn't stop them from attacking me verbally after the little scene Louisa had caused at lunch.<p>

If not for the total and utter humiliation, I might've cared less. In fact, I may not have cared at all. But today…today just couldn't get any worse.

At least that's what I thought.

By now, I have officially deduced that I am no longer a virgin, because life has screwed me over more times than I can count.

I was walking back home, just wallowing in self-pity when it happened (though why everything seems to happen on my way home, I'll never know). All I really thought as I found Matt sitting on top of me, having flown down from nowhere, was that this gave me a horrible sense of déjà vu.

"Jesus, Matt!" I exclaimed. "What is wrong with—?" and then his hand was covering my mouth, forcing me into silence. I struggled against him until I heard the whizzing of several bullets flying by. That made me freeze where I was.

Seemingly all in one motion, Matt had gotten off of me, picked me up, and thrown me piggy-back style onto his back. I clutched his shirt desperately, trying to not get thrown off with the amount that he was moving. Bullets were still soaring by, and I actually felt one brush dangerously close to my hair. I actually yelped at that one.

A black van was waiting for us as we rounded a corner. The door flew open, revealing Mello, and Matt didn't even slow down before literally jumping inside the car. As soon as we were in, he dropped me into a seat, slamming the door shut. Before he managed to close it all the way, though, he let go of the handle and his now free hand flew to his left arm. The only reason the door closed all the way was because of the momentum. I gasped as blood started to leak through Matt's fingers.

Mello, however, was more preoccupied with the task of getting us out of shooting range. Before the door had even closed, he had floored the gas pedal, sending us into a dizzying whirl of speed. Matt hissed in pain as we were jolted to the side, putting strain on his new wound. I actually sat there, frozen in fear for a few seconds.

"M-Matt?" I stammered eventually. The redhead successfully managed to prop himself up against one of the seats, positioning himself so that he had a good view of his still bleeding arm.

"I'm fine…" he said, sounding incredibly strained. "Shit…" He must've realized that there was no exit wound, meaning that the bullet was still lodged in his arm. I watched in morbid amazement as the redhead thrust two fingers into the wound, fishing around inside his own flesh before yanking out the foreign piece of metal, casting it onto the floor. Needless to say, more and more blood began to seep through the wound.

"Near!" he cried painfully. "Get the bandages from under that seat!" I jumped, doing as I was told before helping him wrap the wound. It didn't really help too much, but the bloodflow had reduced significantly. Desperately, I tried to recall a solution.

"Uh…Matt!" I cried, having an epiphany. "Take off your belt, we can make a tourniquet!" He fumbled with the buckle before yanking it part of the way through the loops. When it was obvious that he couldn't continue, I yanked the piece of leather the rest of the way out.

I looped it tightly around the upper part of his arm, above the bullet hole. I was sure that it would be highly uncomfortable, but even with the lack of relationship between the two of us, I'd rather Matt have been uncomfortable and alive than dead.

"Mello!" I cried, hoping that he was still paying attention to the road. He sure was swerving through traffic quite a lot… "What the hell is going on!"

"I'll explain later!" he yelled back. "I'm a little busy right now!"

So I just sat and pulled my hair out next to Matt, there being nothing else I really _could_ do.

_Life? Hey, it's me, Near. I freaking HATE YOU._

* * *

><p><strong>I also apologize for any spellinggrammar errors that you may notice. Please point them out if you spot them. I feel like I should also apologize for the reduced word count.**

**...sorry.**

**THIS IS IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: I also just remembered that this story is going to be getting a new title. The current one was really not thought out, and only meant as a placeholder until I could think of a better one. I'll let you know before it changes, though. THOU HATH BEEN WARNED!**

**~Mista Benz**


	9. Triple M?

**Okay, so I came up with a new title. Starting in three days, this story will officially be called "Unsought Shadows". I'm awesome, right? Oh yeah, and in case you don't read my profile updates, I should let you know that the reason this is so late is because I was halfway done with the chapter and I had it saved to my USB drive, but then I lost the damn thing. Sorry. I'm getting a new one soon, so that shouldn't happen again anytime soon. But I'm writing this on the document manager of FF, because I don't actually have my own computer that I can save to.**

**But you don't care about my excuses and ramblings, do you? Onward, chapter 9!**

**Disclaimer: Psh, I wish I owned Death Note. L would've PWNED Light and none of the Wammy's would've died. Also, I don't own the X-Men, who are mentioned briefly in this chapter.**

**P.S., anyone who can guess who Mo is based off of gets a lifetime supply of cybercookies from L's virtual stash!**

**L: WTF! NEVER!**

**\:-'**

* * *

><p>When I woke up the next morning, I didn't open my eyes, because the first thing I registered was that I was in a bed, and I couldn't feel the rumbling of the van that had lulled me to sleep in the first place. I stiffened where I lay, and I briefly entertained the idea that the shooting, the kidnapping, and the running from the Mafia had all been a part of some elaborate dream my mind had invented to ease my boredom.<p>

That theory went out the window when I recognized that the pillow below my head was not as flffy as the one on my bed, and that my downy comforter that smelled of fabric softener had been replaced with a thick fleece blanket that seemed to cling to my skin and clothes, though not in an uncomfortable way. Warily, I listened for the sound of other people nearby, and I was met with silence.

Prying my eyes open, I scanned my surroundings, noting that the room I was in was completely empty of other people, though it wasn't fully empty by any means. The bed I was in was actually a daybed, pushed against one wall horizontally. Against the wall parallel to me, there was a refrigerator, a microwave, and an old-looking television set. Perpendicular to that on the right was a book shelf that was half full with unorganized titles of various authors. One the wall across from that were two more beds, placed so that they extended perpendicularly from the wall. Next to those was a single wooden door, and nothing else. I glanced down at myself, still in the blood-dusted white shirt and pants I'd been wearing the previous night. The fleece blanket was amusingly decorated with a black and white panda print. It made me think of my cousin.

I turned my body, sliding off the bed warily. I had no idea where the _hell_ I was, and it was so eerily quiet, I was beginning to freak out. "Hello?" I called out. I didn't actually expect someone to answer, but it was worth a try. I just kind of sat there like an idiot, wondering what to do, until the door opened. Even though he had stalked and techincally kidnapped me, I have to say that I was relieved to see Mello come into the room, especially carrying a white t-shirt and jeans with him.

"Hey, you're awake," he acknowledged, handing me the clothes that I took with greed. "You've been out for a few hours since I woke up. Then again, I suppose that's to be expected, seeing as you must've hit a pretty big adrenalin high yesterday." I nodded, setting shirt and pants down next to me.

"Where are we?" I asked. "Your friend's safe house?" Mello nodded, pulling a chocolate bar out of his seemingly bottomless pockets.

"Mo is upstairs talking to her dad," he said. I quirked my eyebrow upwards, indicating that I wanted a further explanation. I wasn't disappointed. Mello gave a sigh, like he was about to explain something I might not have wanted to hear. "...she's actually not that old. She's only gonna be seventeen in a few weeks. She lives with her dad, but he doesn't actually know about her connection to the mafia. He's a big shot doctor, so he's gone most of the time anyways, but he watches her pretty close. Right now we're in the third basement down. Mo's old man doesn't know about it, so it's perfect for harbouring stray mafiosos like me and Matt." I nodded consistently as I took in the information he was giving me.

"It's also only accessable through a hidden passage in the second basement, which is only accessable through _another_ hidden passage in the first basement. Mo's dad only knows about the first, so he wouldn't find us, and no one from the outside would be able to get in. Even if they managed to get into the second level, they'd probably never think of a third."

"What if they did?" I mused. "She'd be pretty screwed then, right?" Mello snorted.

"She's actually almost done building the fourth one." I raised my eyebrows at the girl's thoughtfullness. It was impressive. I had to give Mello credit; he certainly knew how to choose his friends, especially if she was managing to hide it all from her father the way she was. I got the feeling that Mello was done talking, but before the awkward silence could settle over us, a loud bang sounded from seemingly above our heads.

"Damn it, what is she doing now?" I raised an eyebrow in worry. Another explosion came a few moments later, and it was obvious that Mello wasn't going to just let it continue any longer. He stood up quickly, and I instinctively rose to follow him, despite the fact that I was still in blood-dusted clothes. Mello, however, seemed to be very aware of that fact, as he pushed me back onto the bed by my chest. "Get changed, I'll wait outside the door." I scowled at his obvious command, but didn't respond verbally, doing as he said. It killed me that the stupid pants couldn't have been white, but they were a whitewashed denim that was close enough, and would have to do.

For now.

I followed Mello down what seemed like a labyrinth of concrete tunnels, and I was beginning to down his directional skills, though he assured me that he knew where he was going. Surely enough, despite my skepticism, we eventually reached what looked like an elevator. The two of us stepped in, and Mello pressed the up button once. The doors closed and we started moving up, our ride being interrupted by yet another explosion quaking the ground beneath our feet. Mello cursed quietly under his breath again, and the doors opened.

Once again, we were lost in a maze of hallways, but Mello seemed to know exactly where we were. Finally, we came to a set of wooden double doors, which the blonde promptly kicked open, just in time to get blasted in the face with a puff of black smoke. I coughed, the fumes reaching over to me, though the sound was undoubtedly drowned out by Mello's raging.

"Damn it you stupid pyromaniac! Can't you go five minutes without blowing something to shit?" I had to squint to see through the thick smoke, but Mo must've designed the ventilation system for easy gas removal, because the stuff cleared out very quickly. When it had finally diluted enough to see through (and enough so that we wouldn't get lung cancer just by standing near it), Mello tugged my into the room. Now that I could somewhat see it, I noticed that it seemed to be entirely made out of metal, and there were ash stains all over the walls.

Standing in the direction that Mello had pulled me was a girl. And by a girl, I mean physically. Because I'll tell you right now, she looked more manly and badass than Chuck Norris. She had aviator goggles pulled over her blue eyes (probably to block the smoke and possible debris), her short blue hair splayed out in layers that looked like feathers. She was wearing clothes that were obviously feminine, but gave her a rather tomboyish look; a black t-shirt that was obviously too short, as it cut off above her belly button, loosely fitting cargo shorts, and red sneakers.

Hell, I had to admit it; the girl would be considered "cute" among normal people. I'd even heard people use the word "hot" to describe people like her. However, I thought her appearence leaned more towards maniacal, as she was holding what looked like homemade dynamite in each hand, and had ash smears all over her face. The demonic grin she was wearing didn't help either. She looked like she was about to chuck one of her explosives at each of _us_.

"Mo for Mortar, Mello-Yellow," she teased. I almost laughed. Mo for Mortar. Plus, the way she talked to Mello indicated that she was either extremely familiar with him, or didn't care that he had the ability and reason to shoot her in the head. Considering her overal demeanor, I'm tending towards the latter.

"If you don't quit calling me that, Mo is gonna stand for Morgue, 'cause that's where I'm gonna put you!" She laughed, jumping into the air as Mello dove at her. I almost gasped at the height she got up to. She must've been at least ten feet in the air.

"And this must be the darling little sheep I've heard so much about?" Mo said, walking over to me. She slung an arm around my shoulders, giving me a cheeky smirk when my face heated up. She laughed. "Don't worry, he doesn't talk about you _that_ often. And it'll be a cold day in hell before Mello uses the word 'darling' in _any_ context." I felt the corner of my mouth twitch back a tiny bit. "The name's Mo, short for mortar. You can see why." She gestured to the ashen remains of something unidentifiable in the center of the room. "I'm the world's best bomb techinician!"

"Near," I said, monotonously. "Nice to meet you." Mortar gave me a once over, all the while giving me a skeptical look.

"You seem too stiff..." she mused, her face lighting up. "You should loosen up! Set one off with me!" My eyes widened as she thrust a stick of dynamite at me. I almost dropped it in surprise. I'd never actually held something so destructive in my life. I don't think I'd ever even held a gun, let alone an explosive device.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Mello jumped in. "You don't just throw live bombs at someone!" Mortar pouted, crossing her arms.

"It wasn't lit!" she huffed. "I'm not _that_ stupid!" Matt chose that time to make an appearence. I glanced over at him, realizing that he had been ducking behind some kind of barrier while Mortar was setting off bombs.

"Actually, you are that stupid," he contradicted. "You almost killed me the last time we came up here! Twice!" Mortar still didn't back down.

"Jesus," she sighed. "You almost kill someone twice by accident and suddenly there is no trust..." I examined the bomb as she spoke, wondering what it would feel like to blow something up. Judging from Mo's attitude, it must've been pretty frikin' awesome.

"I want to try it." Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at me; Matt with amusement, Mortar with excitement, and Mello like he regretted bringing me along.

"Damn it...I'll get the burn salve."

* * *

><p>I had already blown up eight wooden chairs and a table by the time Mello decided that I'd had enough time with the explosives. I was getting more and more eager to light up another stick of dynamite after every one I threw. I understood now why Mortar liked it so much. Blowing things up was...<em>addicting<em>, to put it simply. It was one of those things that you just couldn't stop doing once you got started. Setting of dynamite was like a drug, the most exciting version of cocaine ever invented.

That was why I refused to leave what Mo had entitled "The Danger Room" (something having to do with the X-Men comics, I think), until Mello forcibly dragged me out by throwing me over his shoulder. Once I was out of the Danger Room, and the smoke fumes started to clear out of my head, I began to realize just how childish I'd been, and started to feel embarrased about it. Mello didn't mention it again, though, which I was greatful for, though I obviously didn't tell him that.

Mello had carried me all the way back to the room I'd woken up in, plopping me on the bed before going over to the fridge. I peeked around him, noticing all the food he'd purchased at the gas station, as well as a few other things, like the dozen or so cans of an unmistakeable drink. I shuddered. Mello definately did seem like the type to drink alcohol, I just could see him doing it in my mind's eye. I probably grimaced noticeably when he pulled a can out and popped the top open, but his back was turned to me. After he'd chugged a couple gulps of beer, he tossed me a bottle of water.

"Clear your head, and your throat," he noted. "And expect to vomit sometime today. It always happens to first-timers after a round with Mo in the DR." I grimaced again, not caring if he saw that time, which he did. He just chuckled at me.

Mello clicked on the TV, and I noticed that it was wired to a cable box. "How does that one teenage girl afford all this?" I asked, gesturing to everything around me. It seemed _extremely_ weird that she could build four basements and furbish them decently without her father knowing, all by herself.

"She sells explosives, and does arson jobs for her family," Mello answered. "Her crime familiy, that is. She's been doin' it since she was ten." I felt my eyebrows shoot through the roof. I'd been solving quadratic equations and the like when _I_ was ten, but Mortar had been involved in a life of crime and explosions since then? I didn't really know how to feel other than drily amused at the irony.

"What about you?" I asked. "It just occured to me that I don't know anything about your background." Mello stiffened a bit at the mention of his past, but proceeded to talk anyways.

"Well...I don't think there's much to tell. My dad's parents migrated from Russia, and my mom came over from there when she was twenty. They got hitched and had a kid; that's where I come in. I was smart, and advanced to the point where I was doing college level math in the sixth grade. But after my folks died in a gang shootout, I cut school and joined Rod's family. He liked me pretty good 'cause I'm good at strategy and planning. I made his family top of the city, and probably the country, and I had complete control. Then, I got a tip that some lower downs were gonna try and take me out. I killed them, but got busted for it. I had to run. Then Matt and I ended up outisde of LA trying to lay low for a while. After that, I met you, and the rest is history."

I felt a bit of pity for Mello, at that moment. He acted so nonchalant about the whole thing, but his life had been harder than mine multiplied by ten. "What about you and Matt?" I questioned further. "How long have you guys been friends?"

"We've known each other since we were seven. Matt was always a good hacker, so when our parents were murdered together, he stuck to me and joined up with Rod." I nodded my understanding. "...What about you?" Mello asked, suddenly deciding to turn this back on me. I winced. My childhood, though isolated and lonley, seemed cushy and imperialistic compared to his. Obviously, though, I wans't going to be able to talk my way out of the question without seeming like an insensitive ass.

"Mine was nowhere near as challenging as yours. For the first few years of my life, I lived with my parents, who always worked, and when they died, I moved in with Elliot, who also works. When it became evident that my IQ surpassed that of my peers, Elliot began to train me in deductive reasoning. Then, I too worked. I never had friends, or a social group of any kind. I've always been alone, and eager to fulfill expectations."

I didn't think it sounded nearly as bad as getting involved in illegal weapons trade or becoming the wingman of a ruthless mafia boss, but I kid you not, Mello seemed absolutely appalled.

"Hey, your life may not have much gunfire in it, but that still sounds like it sucks. If I were in your position, I would be dying to trade it away for the life I have now." I stared at him curiously. "I mean, it sounds like you were isolated until your parents' deaths, and then you started working when your cousin figured out that you were smart. Didn't you ever go rampant? Ever stop toeing the line and cause mayhem? Something worth noticing?" He seemed like he was begging me to tell him that I'd done something bad at least once in my life. But now that he'd mentioned it, I could feel the fear, years old, creeping into my stomach out of pure reflex.

"N-No," I lied, badly. "I have always been a model student, and frankly I've never been one to cause 'mayhem'." Mello rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

"You know that's a horrible lie, right?" he questioned drily. I nodded, defeated. "What'd you do?" Despite the fact that I was dreading having to explain it, he seemed eager to know. I sighed.

"I used to throw tantrums at my parents when they got home because usually, they came through the door at ten, sometimes eleven, o'clock at night. I was very small then. One day, though, my father decided that he'd had enough, and he began to..._effectuate_...corporal punishment." I stopped talking, as Mello seemed to be at his breaking point. His face was so red that it seemed to be on the verge of turning purple, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"He hit you?" the blonde asked. I nodded hesitantly, my cheeks burning. "Continue." Mello's words were spoken through clenched teeth, and I could tell he was fighting not to rip something apart and start punching something. Hopefully, neither of those things would be me.

"Well my mother...she was not happy with the arrangement, but she too was exhausted. She saw that it stopped me from having my tempers and thought that it was the only other way. So she began to do it too. They died close to five months after that. They'd already broken me, though." I had accepted that fact long ago, but it still tasted like rusty nails and vinegar to admit it out loud.

It was true; I had once been an active, ordinary little boy with a high IQ. But emotion...that's what had come to destroy me. Emotion was what had carved out my facade of an uncaring, stoic robot who sat still, stayed quiet, and didn't cause a ruckus. I could've laughed at the irony.

"That's why you are the way you are, then?" I nodded. "Man..."

"But that's not important anymore," I insisted, trying awkwardly to push the subject to the side. "Can I have something to eat?" He still looked like he was incredibly pissed, but was trying to calm down. I was almost relieved that my parents were already dead, because Mello looked like he would murder them himself if the deed hadn't already been done.

"Yeah," he replied through clenched teeth. I sighed, shaking my head.

Then, something clicked in my head, and I jumped up immediately.

"Shit! Elliot!"

_Well this'll be a fun conversation..._

* * *

><p><strong>So...how many of you hate me for the previous hiatus? I hope not too many. I just hope you guys don't stop reading...<strong>

**As usual, please review, and I'll update as soon as I can!**

**Bensu-kun**


	10. A Phone Call, Hormones, and Family

**Okay, so it's been, like, what…three months almost since my last update? Oh…that is a pretty long time. Well it's 1:30 am as I post this, so I hope y'all like. Feel free to point out any errors, and please tell me what you think of this chapter after you read it!**

**Disclaimer: Eh, sure. I'm tired XP**

**Near: Luke-kun would like to tell everyone that he doesn't own Death Note, but he's being to lazy.**

**Me: I'm tired, damn it you little sheep! I'm glad I tortured you in this chapter!**

**Near: Y-You did?"**

**Me: Yeah, you bet I did, you little bastard! In the WORST WAY POSSIBLE! With a GIRL! XDDDDD!**

* * *

><p>I sat on what I had claimed as "my" bed with the phone in my hand, absolutely dreading making the call I would be forced to make. After a few moments of wallowing in my own misery, I dialed the phone, listening to the tone as I waited for L to answer.<p>

"Near?" came his worried voice through the speaker. "Where are you?" It made since that he'd know it was me. The line I'd called him on was reserved especially for me; more importantly, in case I was ever in trouble.

"I can't tell you that, but I am safe." I could hear typing in the background, and I immediately knew what he was up to. "The phone I am calling from is untraceable, so you may cease your attempts now." I thought it was kind of funny how he actually stopped typing.

"Near..." he sounded strained. "Where have you been? You never came home from school, and I...I've been worried..."

My eyes widened. Never in my entire life had I ever, and I mean _ever_ heard L sound like that. He sounded concerned, scared, and anything else that fell under hose categories. He sounded like the exact _opposite_ of L. And I was so caught of guard, I couldn't even speak. An awkward silence settled over the two of us for a moment, even though we weren't even in the same _city_.

"E-Elliot," I stammered, eventually. "Something highly important has come up, and I only called to assure you that I'm safe. Please don't try to look for me just yet. I shall call you again if there is trouble.

"Near, you will tell me exactly where you are so that I may personally come and get you. Now." Ouch. He was using his "I am L, you must obey" voice.

"Listen to me, Elliot," I commanded harshly, ignoring his order. He stayed silent, and I imagined that he was at a loss for words. Just as I'd told Mello earlier, I was always eager to please my cousin, always searching for a way to impress him. That said, I'd never outright refused to do something he'd told me to do. So he was probably pretty shell shocked to hear me acting so defiant.

"It isn't safe for you to come to where I am, or for me to come home right now. I'm not alone; I'm in a safe house with people that I trust, and I'm going to come home eventually. I...It's not like I ran away or anything. I'll call you when I'm coming."

"Near!" L sounded desperate now. "If you aren't coming home...then I need to know some things. Who are you with? Why did you need to leave?"

"I can't answer either of those questions directly, Elliot. I can tell you, though, that I'm with two good friends, and I needed to leave because it wasn't safe for either of us if I had stayed." He sighed, and I could tell that he was wallowing in defeat. I thought it was kind of ironic. L was the one who had tought me how to dodge the direct point of a question, and now I was using his own teachings against him.

"Damn it..." My eyebrows shot up to the roof. L had just...swore? I'd never heard him do _that_ before... "Well then one more thing," he continued. "Please promise me that you will be careful."

Something in my chest burst open, and I was suddenly speechless. L, _the_ L, was seriously begging me to keep myself safe? _I guess he cares more about me than I thought..._ I felt my eyes get steamy with tears, and I snapped them shut before tears could start welling up. My cousin waited patiently for me to collect myself and answer.

"I...I promise, L. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Near."

* * *

><p>We ended up staying in Mortar's house for almost two weeks before I started to go crazy. I hadn't seen sunlight since before I'd been terminologically kidnapped, and while that usually wouldn't be a problem for me, I was also deprived of anything to keep me busy. So not only was I bored out of my effing mind, but I was developing a nervous twitch from the lack of plastic based playthings.<p>

As Matt and Mello came into our bedroom, I noticed two things-they were both covered in ash and soot, and they weren't carrying any toys. The second thought wasn't at all surprising, but every time I saw the sight of those two coming in bereft of toys, a small part of me died inside.

Yes. I am _that_ obsessed.

My point is, I was going nuts. And Matt seemed to notice, too. "Hey Mels," he began, warily. "I think your boyfriend needs a pill or something, 'cause he's acting like a freak." Over the two weeks of what could be called confinement, both Mello and I learned not to be bothered by Matt's joking insinuations about our relationship. It was true that I definately liked Mello more than I did before, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him in that context just yet. And whatever Mello was feeling, he kept it to himself.

"I-I'm fine," I forced out between clenched teeth. And because I wasn't totally convinced, I said it again. "I'm fine." They both gave me skeptical looks before the silence set in. It wasn't awkward at this point, but only because we'd been doing the same things day by day for the two weeks we'd been there. We'd wake up, take turns getting ready, we'd eat breakfast, and they'd dissapear into the Danger Room for a target practice with Mortar, who was never without some form of explosive. After that, they'd stroll in for lunch, we'd all eat together, and then my two friends went to work on the fourth basement while Mortar and I blew things up in the Danger Room. I didn't think it was a very good idea for them to fuel my addiction so readily, but I wasn't complaining.

Mello turned on the hot plate that Mo had brought us, setting a pot of water on it to boil and dumping a few packages of instant ramen into it. I watched the steam rise with interest, thankful that watching the vapor rise in tendrils was able to distract me from my lack of toys.

"How is the fourth basement coming along?" I asked Matt. He had already turned his Gameboy on, but I knew he was paying attention to me.

" 's Fine," he slurred around the cigarette dangling from his mouth. I silently thanked Mortar for designing the ventilation the way she had, otherwise I would've died simply from choking on the noxious smoke. "We're already done with the foundation, and we're just starting to put in wood for the floors. Mo is destined to make this level as much like a house as she possibly can."

I didn't respond, but imagined what the fourth basement might look like upon its completion. I pictured a thick wooden door, and a homey looking living room with white plaster walls that would no doubt be reinforced with steel. I imagined a plush black sofa and a big TV, with a kitchen made of wood and marble, with white appliances. I sighed; it sounded so much more comfortable than the concrete room that the three of us were confined to for the time being. I let my mind wander into the other rooms that would surely be a part of Mo's fourth level. I envisioned a bedroom with fluffy carpet and a large, comfortable bed, a desk on one wall and a dresser on another.

I sighed again. The closest thing we had in here to a fluffy carpet was a flattened down rug that covered the cold concrete floor, and our beds, while not necessarily uncomfortable, weren't quite as inviting as what I was fantasizing about.

Mello broke me from my daydream with a loud bang of his wooden spoon against the metal pot he was cooking on. While I had been lost in la la land, he'd already retreated to the bathroom, poured the water down the sink, and returned, adding the flavored powder that made the bland, fake noodles taste edible. I slid down off of the bed, plopping down onto the floor to take my share of lunch. Mello handed me a bowl with a fork, and we ate in silence until a loud thudding came from outside the door. I blinked, looking towards it just in time for me to see Mortar kick it open forcefully.

"It was open..." Mello grumbled. Mo ignored him.

"Guess what guys!" she squealed excitedly. I couldn't help but think that it was highly out of character for her. We all looked at her expectantly. "My dad left the house for a week!" Matt and Mello both broke into relieved grins, getting up so fast that I was amazed that they hadn't spilled their food all over the place.

"Um...so?" All three of them looked back at me like I was insane, or stupid.

"We get to go upstairs!" Matt explained, his tone suggesting that it should've been obvious. My eyes widened, and I got up.

Mello, Matt, and I ran like our asses were on fire.

* * *

><p>The first thing Mello did when we resurfaced from the basement, much to my amusement, was make a beeline for the nearest bathroom. It wasn't like the bathroom in the third basement was <em>bad<em> per se, but it was a metal toilet and a large sink that was used for cooking, "bathing" (meaning taking a sponge or rag and cleaning yourself one piece at a time), and pretty much all our other needs, and the floor was cold concrete. It was more like a prison bathroom, or one that you'd find in the middle of a park. Therefore, I suppose it was reasonable that we all wanted to exercise our newfound access to porcelain and tile.

Matt, not surprisingly, headed straight for the kitchen. He looked kind of grungy, as he'd been helping Mortar test her newest batch of explosive devices right before lunch, and had only watched off his hands before he'd sat down to eat. Needless to say, his ash and soot covered face and clothes clashed brilliantly with the white marble counters in Mo's kitchen. I followed him, simply staring at the house. I had been through here before, but it was very quick, and I'd been unconscious at the time.

The walls were all white, and there were a few pictures placed every couple feet (the walls were pretty big). Some showed a little girl, who was obviously a younger version of Mortar (though even as a small child, her hair was electric blue, she was wearing goggles, and holding a sparkler). Others contained a middle aged man with chocolate hair and Mo's blue eyes, who I assumed was her father. I decided not to inquire as to why there were no photos of her mother. It was probably a personal matter (translation: She was either dead or had left the family).

"Hey, Near," Matt called from the chrome refrigerator. He was helping himself to several plastic tubs of what I assumed were leftovers. "You want any food? This stuff's better than that instant ramen crap Mo's been feeding us!"

"Well excuse me," Mortar said sarcastically. "I forgot how horrible my safe house's cuisine is compared to all the other ones in the area. Maybe next time you should head to Motel Non-Existent down the road next time you're looking to escape the Mafia!" She 'hmphed', crossing her arms.

"Alright, alright," Matt said, waving a hand dismissively at her. "I get it. But seriously Near, she's got spaghetti, meatloaf, chili…" he went on to describe a few more foods to me, but I just stared at him, lost in all the options. The past two weeks for the lot of us had been nothing but instant foods like ramen and macaroni. Not a lot of options there, so being suddenly faced with a million different choices was a bit overwhelming. In the end, I just ended up having leftover vegetable chili, which Matt decided for me, since he was already heating it up for himself. I didn't mind; it sounded pretty good anyway.

"So Near," Mortar said from her place seated at the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her soot-blackened elbows supported the weight of her upper body as she leaned in towards me on the other side of the island. "Tell me about yourself. We haven't gotten much alone time since you guys got here, what with Mello being so protective of you."

Normally, I would've decidedly ignored that comment. Don't get me wrong, I still ignored it, but for an entirely different reason. Now I stated before that Mo, while being heavily tomboyish and badass, was fairly gifted in the looks department. That included…well, let's just say I blushed heavily and forced my eyes to stay above her neck when her v-neck collar began to droop.

I do have to ask you to remember that I _am_ a teenage boy with active hormones.

She didn't seem to notice both the fact that her shirt was incredibly revealing at the moment as well as the fact that my pale face was probably dusted with red, because she just stared at me, waiting for an answer. Eventually, I regained my voice.

"Uhm…well…" Yeah, shows how well I do in that kind of situation. I don't know where my defenses had gone, or why my stoic shield wasn't employing as I requested of it. "There's not much to tell about myself." That was what I eventually came up with, still trying (and only just barely succeeding) to put up my mental barriers.

Mortar didn't help me out all that much, because she continued to innocently scoot closer to me, an inquisitive expression on her face. She looked like she was trying to figure out what my exact skin tone was or something else weird like that. Either way, her proximity to me, as well as her every drooping neckline was making me severely nervous, though I tried not to let it show as much as possible.

"I-If I may ask," I said, mentally shooting myself in the head for stuttering. "What exactly are you doing?"

Mo's eyes became more focused as she looked straight on into mine in a bold and unnerving manner. "I'm judging you," she said.

"Judging me?" I repeated, puzzled. It took all my self control not to go "er…" at the beginning of that sentence. _Jesus, _I thought. _First Mello, and now Mortar? How many _other_ freaking people are out there that I can't be impassive towards?_

"Yes!" Mo confirmed. "I'm judging you!" She left her blue gaze on my eyes, and I felt the desperate urge to blink, if only to break the obvious intrusion she was forcing. It felt like she was ransacking my soul with her mind or something…However, I felt myself unable to move as she seemingly inspected me.

I was just about to ask her what she was judging me based on, or rather, why the _hell_ she was judging me in the first place (what the hell!), when a certain blonde tirade came into the room.

Suffice it to say, Mo and I were in a fairly awkward position. I was in a chair on one side of the marble island, and was continuously scooting backwards to avoid a collision between Mo and I. At this point, Mo was up on her knees on the island, leaning over the edge to stare into my eyes (or into my soul, whatever the hell she was doing…), and I suppose it would've looked somewhat…-gulp-…sultry from Mello's angle.

This scene could be taken a couple of different ways, especially since Matt was standing right there watching us the whole time (*ick*). Mello immediately put the wrong twos together and flushed angrily. When I caught sight of him, I winced and flushed. Mo didn't catch sight of him at all, because she was too busy inspecting me.

"What the _HELL_ do you think you're doing, you freaking pyromaniac?" Mello screamed, cocking his gun. Matt didn't bat an eyelash, and I half expected Mortar to ignore him and continue scanning my spirit.

Instead, she jumped up off of the island, walked over to Mello, and held out a "thumbs up".

"I approve!" Mello raised an eyebrow, lowering his gun, and we both looked at her in confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about, Mo?" the blonde boy asked. "Approve of what?"

"I approve of Near, of course!" Mo said, as though it were obvious. "He's smart, that much is obvious, he's got a complex mind and thought process, and he's just so cute!" Mello and I both blushed as we realized what she was talking about. "Though, I can't say I every pegged you for a loli-shota lover…" Mo said thoughtfully. I frowned. I spoke Japanese, and I knew what "loli-shota" meant. What I didn't understand was why she was referring to _me_ as one.

"What are you even talking about?" Mello snorted indignantly. Matt leaned over to his friend's ear as he stirred a bowl of vegetable chili. If I had to guess, I'd say that Matt was explaining to Mello exactly what "loli-shota" meant. The probability of that rose as Mello's once furious flush of rage had dimmed down to an embarrassed, scandalized kind of smile. "H-Hell, no!" he denied. That led to a big discussion/argument on my status as a loli-shota. (?)

I stared at the three of them; Matt was wolfing down a bowl of chili and pushing another one towards me. Mello and Mortar were arguing relentlessly; it didn't look either would win anytime soon. All in all, the whole thing looked like…well, like a family.

_Go figure. I get kidnapped by my stalker after being shot at by the mafia, I'm in hiding at the criminal safe house of a teenage girl, and I feel more at home than I _ever_ did back at my apartment._

* * *

><p><strong>And despite the fact that I'm a total ass for not updating sooner, I'm going to leave it there, because it's 1:30 am and I'M EXHAUSTED.<strong>

**Goodnight.**

**~Luke Benz**

***passes out on floor***


	11. I Can't Wait to Get on the Road Again

**Welcome to Chapter 11 of Unsought Shadows! Honestly, I only had one reason to continue this story when I did, and her name is Chana-san. Or Shayla080310. She helped me through writing this, and she's been waiting so dutifully, and giving me one wonderful review after another. This one is for her! And 12 is around half done as we speak, but it probably won't be posted until next week.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Death Note, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. And really, what will you get if you sue me? A contraband violin (which will probably no longer be in my possession come August) and a five-year old electric keyboard?**

* * *

><p>Things were going well at Mortar's house. We were allowed full access to all of her stuff (so of course Matt had completely overtaken her gaming systems) and any room in the house except hers and her dad's. I was currently lying on the bed of what we unofficially considered "my room", staring up at the ceiling. What was I doing? Well, pretty much nothing but thinking about how I was so totally screwed.<p>

I never thought of my life as anything but a sort of dimmed version of hell that I was just wading through, waiting for something great to happen that would change everything. Did I expect to suddenly find myself hiding in the home of a pyromaniac teenager with a bunch of criminals? No. Hell no. What kind of question is that? I gave a wry sort of smirk to myself, accompanied by a dry chuckle. _The kind of question you never think to have, because the event in question isn't something people consider _possible_, let alone _probable_._

But why was I screwed exactly?

Because there was _no. freaking. way. _that I was going to be able to go back to my ordinary, boring life after this. So what if I didn't really like the way things were now- crazy and uncomfortable, and not to mention _illegal _in every sense of the word. The fact remained that I would choose it over my old life ANY DAY.

Make no mistake, I still wanted to be home, if only for a break from all of the illegality and noise and everything, but I could never just stay in that little apartment with "Elliot" like nothing was different. Knowing my cousin, he would probably make me try, but it wasn't gonna happen.

I jolted upright, my musings shattered, as the door opened slowly, causing an almost painfully long "squeeeeaaak" sound. The way things had gone since we'd showed up at Mo's house, I was fully expecting her or Matt to come along and try and convince me that Mello and I were perfect together or something. This time, though, the blond himself decided to grace me with his presence.

I think my brain kind of shut off, or flickered out for a minute because I didn't say anything once he entered. Neither did he, and I realized that I had just jolted up from laying down, resulting in my being somewhat hunched over at the middle, and the shock had made me gasp. I don't know about you, but when I gasp, I stop breathing for a few seconds after, so I'm left breathing a little heavier than normal, but not panting. In this case, however, it certainly did look bad. So, in all: panting, plus hunched over at the waist.

And of course, as I realized exactly what the situation had the potential to look like, I began to blush, and I felt a couple drops of sweat begin to pool on my forehead. And the more I blushed, the worse it looked. Judging from the look in Mello's eyes, I'd say he agreed.

I looked away from him, wiping my forehead. "I-It's really not what it looks like, Mello…"

_Virgin Mary mother of God…_ I thought. _This can_not _possibly get any worse. Absolutely not. No way, no how._

He looked me over slightly, and seemed to buy the explanation—I mean the truth! Obviously it was the truth!

He came into the room, shutting the door gently behind him. I crossed my legs as he moved to sit on the bed, and I suddenly found myself a bit uncomfortable…you know, comparatively. I mean, I'd been in the same house—the same _room_ as Mello for quite some time now, and I'd pretty much gotten used to it. But most of the time, Matt was there. And I still didn't really know Mello that well. He was a criminal after all.

So now that we've passed my whole "not-what-it-looks-like" episode, let's assess the new situation.

In all: Blonde young adult male who is a stalker that is apparently (according to Matt) completely obsessed with me for reasons unknown. He is quieter than usual, and has just walked into "my" room, and is now sitting next to me on the bed.

I could say that I mentally "let out a stream of curses so foul a sailor would scream", but it's honestly not true. I mean, who just says a series of random curse words with no context? I never understood the saying myself. So I pretty much just repeated _"Fuck my life"_ over and over again as the situation progressed.

My brain was forced to get over its moment of astonishment as Mello started talking. "Hey Near," he said, while I struggled to catch up to what he was saying. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

_Oh god no...please let this not be what I think it is_…

"We're going to need to figure out a plan to keep you out of Rod's reach. I don't want anything to happen to you."

_Oh… _Instantly, all the tightness in my body that had built up waiting for him to say something…er, completely different than what he _did _say, was g-o-n-e.

Sure I was relieved…but…_why do I also feel disappointed?_

* * *

><p>We didn't end up figuring out a plan. In fact, the majority of the time he was there, he spent explaining things to me about our options. For example, if I decided I wanted to stay with them and risk getting caught by the mafia, then there were a few different places that we could end up, and a few different ways we could get there unnoticed. Dangerously, but unnoticed.<p>

Honestly, from the gleam in Mello's eyes when he discussed the more treacherous methods of escape, I half expected "then we pack ourselves in a box and mail ourselves to a friend of mine in the Russian black-market," to come out of his mouth.

The way Mello explained the basic outline of getting me home to my cousin sounded faintly interesting when he said it, but I gathered that the gist of it was "We sneak you in, make the mafia think you're still with us, and you hide out in the apartment for the rest of your natural life."

Great option, right? Or would be, maybe. You know, if I were _L_.

Please refrain from any jokes about our familial relationship. _Please_. I beg of you.

Anyways, at the end of the conversation, it felt like I knew more, but we hadn't really made any progress.

And, I was still thinking about _that_. And for those of you out there who didn't catch onto the not-so-subtle hint during our conversation, I mean that I had pretty much _no_ _idea_ how to classify my relationship with Mello. Not anymore, at least. Before, he'd been the creepy older guy who was all about the perverted cameras and stuff. Then, we kind of became friends…kinda. But now…what were we? Friends didn't seem like the right word. The atmosphere wasn't relaxed enough for friendship, nor was it tense enough for me to say that I didn't like him at all.

Which brought me to my next concern: I _want_ to deny it, but I won't lie. I guarantee that it was _disappointment_. That's what I felt when Mello took our conversation in such a different direction.

_WHY?_

I shook my head, clearing it of those kinds of thoughts. _If I'm going to keep having these little monologue spells_, I thought to myself wryly. _I should get some kind of journal to record them in._

Hm. Journals are supposed to reduce stress and stuff, right?

"That's what they say." I whipped my head up at the voice. This time, it _was_ Mortar. I looked at her in confusion for a moment and she smirked. "You know, you talk to yourself when you're alone. I've noticed that a couple times before."

"Can I help you?" I asked evenly.

"We need to talk." I blinked. I'd never seen Mortar so completely serious before. Since we began staying here, she'd always been either perky and childishly excited, or batshit insanely evil over her pyromaniacy. "I think you realize what about."

I winced. Of course I knew what about. I'd _just_ been thinking about it moments before. She seemed to read my mind, because she let that evil smirk come over her serious lips again.

"Yeah, I know you probably don't wanna, but I wanted to get the chance to have a little conversation with you before you all head out." She paused before clarifying. "I get the feeling that Mello will want to move on soon. He hates being tied down to places for very long, and you guys have already been here for quite some time. I'm honestly surprised he's been so accepting. This _has_ been the safest place thus far for you lot of course, but he's been in situations where he chanced his own life, _and _Matt's on his stupid pride and determination to fight." Her eyes softened from their cold, lecturing stare to a more gentle look, like she was really trying to get to me.

"I think it says a lot about his feelings for you if he's willing to actually take the safe road for once."

Of course that was her angle. I had guessed it the minute she started talking about how accepting danger as a real threat was out of character for Mello. But hearing it actually come out of her mouth? It was like she was berating me for not getting closer to him.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this from me, Near, but I'm gonna tell you anyways. Mello was always straight before you came into the picture. In fact, he was with me at one point. We were both younger, and he'd just gotten into this life, so he wanted someone to have on his arm that he knew could take care of herself. So he chose me, even though I was only twelve. I had been in for two years already, so I had a reputation he could use."

Something clicked, and I butted in with a comment. "But if that was five years ago, then he was sixteen when you were together?"

Amusement flicked over Mortar's features and I got the feeling that I was missing something important. "Actually no. I can see why Mello lied to you, but he's only eighteen. He probably thought that his way of life wouldn't seem that bad if he was a full-fledged, legal-for-everything adult in your eyes. But if he told you his back-story already, then I don't see why, especially considering your situation. He's been tangled in this underground world of ours since he dropped out of middle school."

I blinked, about to comment, but the girl cut me off and continued her story.

"Anyways, he broke it off with me after only a year because he didn't want to feel tied down, or obligated to treat me the way guys are supposed to treat their girlfriends, even though I assured him that I didn't care about that stuff. Plus, it was too hard to have that kind of thing going on when I was still so new to the crime world, and just barely able to hide it all from my dad. I was okay with it. You know, I was young, resilient, and had plenty of time.

"But Mello never got with any girls after that. The only person he was ever attached to was Matt, and when I questioned him about _that_ relationship, he said that he was straight. I was beginning to think of him as totally asexual, but then I got a call from Matt, saying that they wouldn't be around for a while. I asked why, and all Matt would tell me was _'Mello found someone.' _"

Mortar smiled, as if the memory made her so happy that it couldn't be contained. "I was glad. Of course, then when Matt clued me in on this little love interest, I knew there would be complications. And aside from the obvious, I'm sure Mello did too. That's why he tried to stay anonymous. He wanted to make sure not only that you were safe from your world, but that you were also safe from ours." She paused again, as if to give me time to mull it over, but I gave her a look, silently asking her to continue.

"I'll tell you right now, Near, that if it wasn't for Mello's situation in the Mafia, he would've pursued you properly and publicly, all consequences be damned, even if he was _forty_. And I know that despite all the recent events, including you basically rejecting him to his face without even sounding like you care, that he really loves you."

I don't know red my face was at that point, both from her stories about Mello, and from the way she was talking to me. I felt like a child, and she was my mother, telling me how disappointed she was, and how my actions were unfixable, even though she'd never actually said it. But no matter how badly I was blushing, I went completely pale at her next words.

"So I have a question for you, Near; How is it that you think you feel about him now?"

I didn't know what to say other than a quietly muttered, "…I don't know…"

I'm sure that she would've sat there for hours, waiting for me to speak, to say something that would give any indication of my thoughts, but we were only there for around a minute before Matt barged into the room, looking frantic. He didn't even comment on the fact that we were alone together, especially with the way I was looking. I blinked, fully having expected that kind of reaction.

"You guys, we've gotta go!" He said. "Mello's on the phone with Sawyer and Lucy right now, and they'll be here soon. We spotted some guys on the roof of one of the neighbor's houses, and we tapped their radio signals. They've got more guys coming in soon. They're gonna search your place, so you've gotta lock down."

Instantly, Mo was on her feet, running out the door, while I remained there, confused as to what was going on. Matt signaled with his hand for me to follow him, barking out "Come on!" as he started to run. My heart started to beat faster as I realized that we might just be in another life/death situation.

* * *

><p><strong>So...? Good or bad? Emotionally satisfying or not? I feel like I have failed you, Chana-san!<strong>


	12. Safe House: Part Two

**Chana-san has requested that L re-enter the picture. So naturally, I had to find a way to make sure that it happened; and while he is not in this chapter, he will be in the next one. I must apologize, also, for the lack of romance in this fic, especially during this arc. But I swear on my life that it'll come later! I just have to find the right situation to use!**

**I originally planned to have some romance in this chapter, but it was getting kind of long and I wanted to get it posted. Please try to enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Whatever. No longer possess violin, and keyboard is old and slightly damaged.**

* * *

><p>We entered the living room just in time to see Mello hanging up the phone. "Sawyer and Lucy are coming." I could only watch in awe as they went over to the coat closet, obviously knowing what they were doing, and taking two flattened backpacks from the very top shelf. I caught one just as Matt threw it to me, and I followed them to the kitchen.<p>

To say that they raided to the place is such an understatement, that I won't even begin to describe it. They were going through the cabinets, grabbing tons of things that I could tell wouldn't perish quickly, like bread and boxed snacks. They were done before I could move from the door, or think about how Mortar would have to explain the sudden absence of food to her father, and suddenly, my pack was ripped from my hands by the aforementioned girl, who shoved a ton of cloth into them.

"There are clothes, with some explosives and lighters there. Don't drown the dynamite!" I blinked as she shoved a gun into the pack at the very top. "And definitely be careful with that!"

I strapped the backpack to…well, my back, and numbly followed the older teenagers to the garage as they ran ahead of me. When we got there, the door was already opening, and I saw a sleek-looking black van, followed by a smaller more compact black car. Driving the van was a boy who I assumed was Sawyer, while a girl (Lucy) drove the smaller car. Mello, Matt, and I piled into the van, and I heard the two drivers talking to each other in what sounded like fast-paced Spanish.

Mello joined right in, barking in the other language like a pro. Only when it was absolutely silent, save for our heavy breathing, did I decide that it was safe to talk.

"What exactly is happening right now, Mello?" He looked over at me in surprise, like he'd forgotten I was there. His eyes hardened, but I could tell it wasn't directed at me.

"We were spotted after coming out of the basement, and I noticed a guy watching us earlier this morning. Matt and I tapped their communications and found out that Rod sent some more guys. They should be getting there in the next few minutes. When their bug tells the backup that two different cars were seen leaving, Rod will want to personally handle it. The reason the two cars were so different was because Rod knows my general thinking process. He knows that I'm typically as unconventional as it gets."

Mello smirked.

"The obvious vehicle for us to have taken was this one, because it's practical. But Rod Ross knows that I've never really valued practicality. So he'll assume that I was trying to trick them by stuffing all three of us into the smaller car. Lucy is going to throw them off by acting like she doesn't have us, because he'll be expecting her to try and hide us. Sawyer on the other hand, will make it slightly obvious that we're here, because it'll look like he's trying to trick the guys into thinking that we're here." He smirked. "Basically, Rod's own intelligence is working against him."

I frowned in concern. "What about Mortar?" Matt spoke up that time.

"Well, they're gonna search her place, but since she works for a different family, they won't know about her basements. Any evidence we left that we were living there would be in the third basement, which they definitely won't find. And because of the lockdown sequence, it's doubtful they'll even get into the second one." He tried to take a cigarette out, only for Mello to yell at him in a hushed voice (you know, like a stage whisper?) to put it away. "The only thing we have to worry about," he continued irritably, "is Mortar's dad coming home. That won't necessarily affect _us_, but Mo will be screwed."

My frown deepened. Mortar was at a _huge_ risk. And it seemed that the only reason for it was because of us. Yeah, I realize that it's part of her chosen occupation, and that all jobs come with hazards, yada yada, but still. She'd been a great help to us, and to see her being put in such an unstable situation was unsettling, to say the least.

I looked up at our driver, Sawyer. He was a decent-sized guy, probably pretty young, but definitely older than Mello and Matt. He had a short crop of dark-brown hair, and I'd caught a glimpse of brown eyes earlier. From my place on the floor of the van, I could tell he was wearing a dark jacket of some kind, but not much more than that. Matt must've noticed my sudden interest in the man behind the wheel, because he jumped in to explain.

"Sawyer is a getaway driver, with his sister, Lucy. They're specialized to these kinds of jobs, and maintain a special loyalty to Mello, because he's always relied on them." He chuckled. "You'd be surprised how many friends this guy has in the crime world." He jerked a thumb towards Mello, who put on a "modest" smirk, behind which I could see that he was relishing the praise. If it wasn't obvious before that Mello thoroughly enjoyed having his ego stroked, it was now.

We were silent for the next hour or so, and I began to wonder if we were ever going to stop. I guess my overall silence, and what was probably a bored look must have been cause for concern, because Mello tapped my arm.

"You alright?" he asked. I nodded.

"Hey, Mello?" His eyebrows rose in expectance, and slight eagerness. I had noticed that recently. Whenever I said his name, questioningly or otherwise, his eyebrows would quirk and he would immediately jump to my side, like he was still on his kick about being determined to make me happy, like when we first met.

"Why did you lie to me about your age?" His shoulders fell, and I could tell that it wasn't something he felt like discussing. _Why_, exactly, was a mystery to me, as much as his reason for doing it in the first place.

It took Mello a moment to come up with an answer, and even then he seemed reluctant to give it, so Matt swooped in and saved him.

"That's kind of a story for another time," he said casually, tapping at a muted game. "But I'd say that if there was ever a time for Q&A, it'd be now. We could make a game out of it." Matt's dry, sarcastic sense of humor was not lost on me. "Like Truth or Dare, but you know, minus 'dare'."

Mello rolled his eyes, but both of them looked at me anyways. I studied both of their faces, trying to determine if they were serious. I mean, Truth or Dare? That was a little juvenile, even for my age…but my two…should we say "travel companions"? Either way, both of them looked completely serious. They _really _expected me to take this opportunity to ask them questions.

Well okay, then.

"Very well," I began, trying to sound good-natured. "I would like to inquire about our destination, in that case."

Mello chose to field that question. "We're going to head to San Francisco. The other car is going towards Arizona. Lucy'll split up with another car and make it look like we've switched, and then that car will be going to New Mexico while Lucy goes north. She was planning on heading to Colorado anyways, to visit some friends. This just gave her a job to do before she left."

"What about us?" I pressed. "Will we also be switching off? Because if we do, then it seems like we'll never stop being chased, because there'll have been an equal chance of us being in either car. It's not like this _Rod Ross_ of yours can actually read your mind. The most he could hope for is a very well-educated guess, which I'm sure you've accounted for."

"Yes," Mello agreed, frowning at me slightly. "Of course I accounted for that. As for your question, no we won't. It's also a strategy to have Sawyer helping us. He's known for being kind of a ditz, even if he's a kick-ass driver." The blonde spared a look at our driver, who had made a noise of disapproval. "Sorry, man, but it's true. Anyways, Ross would expect me to take him, because he's the choice that would be the least suspicious. However, because Ross is re-thinking what to expect, hoping to catch me off guard, he'll expect us to have gone with Lucy."

My mind flashed back to the woman behind the wheel of the car. Now that I thought about it, she had a heavily serious air about her, like she meant business. It was an unsettling change of pace. I'd never actually come face-to-face with a person like that. Talked to them through a computer? Sure. But no one I knew in my actual life had that thick, serious aura of "mess with me and I will murder you". L was more of "leave me alone, unless you've got sugar", I dissociated myself from everyone at school, and Mello was more of "screw with me and I'll fucking kill your ass" with a side of "INCOMING BLIND RAGE, DUCK AND COVER". Matt was more of a laid back "Don't touch my game and we'll be fine. But I _do_ have a gun." Then there was Mortar, who was kind of "Better get out of the way, or you'll die, and I won't care!"

But Lucy was darker, that much I could tell from simply seeing her.

"Hm," I murmured. "I believe that it's Matt's turn now." They both stared at me like I was insane, so I continued. "Were we not playing a game?" Reminded of that fact, both of them crossed their arms and mumbled something that sounded like "Yeah, I knew that."

After they were done pretending not to have forgotten, Matt cleared his throat and stood up. "So, Near. You ever been laid?" I mentally facepalmed.

"Mello, I believe it's your turn."

* * *

><p>I had begun to doze off sometime after Sawyer informing us that we were around half an hour from San Francisco, so I was surprised that I was still in the car when I came to. I looked around at my…er, companions?...finding that they were both wide awake, though they looked exhausted. Immediately, I began to feel guilty for falling asleep on them, but really, why shouldn't I have? They could have, too, if they really wanted to. I mean, it's not like they would sleep through an attack, right?<p>

"You've only been out for around fifteen minutes," Mello said, seemingly reading my mind.

I nodded, rubbing my eyes and refusing to yawn. The lull of the van moving over the street was hypnotizing.

"Where are we staying?" I questioned. "Once we're in the city, I mean." Mello propped one arm up on his left knee, using the heel of his palm to support his head at the chin.

"Another safe-house. This one is a bit more typical, though. It's an actual house, and there's gonna be people already there." I mentally cringed, and I felt my eyebrows furrow a little. This would be a new experience. Sure, I'd read reports written by people who'd busted safe-houses for drugs and other such things before, but this would be my first time actually being _inside_ one of them. Mortar's had definitely been unconventional, sure, but I'd never actually stopped to consider—surprisingly –exactly _how_ unconventional. I'd always just gone with it, making the connection between Mortar's own insanity and the design of her basements.

We actually arrived at the safe-house about twenty minutes after entering in the city, and as soon as we did, Mello practically blew the door open with a powerful kick. Immediately, I heard the sound of guns being cocked, and they were aimed at us as soon as we were in sight.

The people who were lounging around what I assumed was the main room were exactly the kind of people I expected to see. A few guys in various styles of dress, from what I dubbed "Sleazy Business Casual" to "Still Sleazy, but not quite 'business' Casual". There was no trend in race or gender; the group was very diverse, which a small part of my mind registered as semi-respectable.

"Who the hell are you?" Snapped one of the Sleazy Business Casuals. I frowned slightly in distaste. He had probably been attempting to give an intimidating glare, but his face seemed to have its own ideas as it twisted into an ugly snarl. As the occupants of the room all adopted similar looks, I found myself releasing a sigh. This was definitely one of the more dangerous situations I'd been in since I found myself associated with this nature of people, but the fact that they couldn't be properly intimidating made the majority of the unease I felt virtually disappear. I mean, it said tons about their competence.

In my mind, I could practically _see_ myself rising on a pillar of stone that was only getting taller. It was the feeling I got whenever I was around idiots like these. It was a feeling of superiority, like I was suddenly immortal in comparison. Of course, though, there was the rational side of me that registered that no matter what their competence was like, or how smart they were, they had guns—fairly _large_ ones, in fact—pointed straight at our faces. So, I swallowed my pride and let Mello handle it, because in all honestly, I'd probably end up getting us all shot.

"I'm Mello, and until further notice, this hole is under my jurisdiction." There was a gleam in Mello's eyes, and I gathered that he was getting the same sense of superiority that I was, but he was much better at executing it in a way that wouldn't make us…you know, die. "I'm sure that even you gang-rats have heard of me." He sneered, and the guys with the guns lowered them, but continued to harbor those horrible glares, as if they were torn between telling us to get the fuck out of their hovel, or succumb to status. In the end, one of the women spoke up.

"You know, I heard Rod Ross's got a heavy price on your head." The woman was very stereotypical, with her tight-fitting clothes and heavy makeup. But she seemed to be just unpleasantly idiotic enough to realize that she could gain something by speaking up. But as soon as she had made that point, the man at her side stepped forward, slicking back some greasy brown hair.

"The woman has a point. Why shouldn't we just kill you now and then hand your head over to Ross? We'd shoot up the ranks for sure. Get outta this shitty place, anyway." He spit, and I wrinkled my nose in distaste as I saw the blob of tobacco-stained saliva go flying.

Mello didn't seem to notice or care, however, and seemed to be pretending to consider what the man had just said. "You know," he said, reaching behind him. "I don't think your plan works out very well. If you kill me, then the first thing that happens is that my friends here shoot you sorry bastards. After that," he pulled a cell phone from his back pocket, bringing it up for all of us to see. "I've already entered the coordinates of my current location into this phone. If I don't reset the alarm every fifteen minutes, then land mines will cave in the house, trapping everyone, while simultaneously contacting the authorities and letting them know where to find a bunch of morons holding pot." The ones who weren't holding guns glanced around, seeing the drugs sitting on plates, scattered on the floor, or in the hands of some other gang members.

The first guy, the one who I'd dubbed their leader, in my mind, smirked. "You're bluffing, you blond prick!" He advanced, and suddenly Matt and Sawyer had both drawn guns. I blinked, wondering if I was meant to have one too. It didn't seem like it. I'd never actually had to shoot a gun before, and my aim was probably wild something terrible. I wasn't even that good at _darts_.

"Does it look like I bluff to you?" Mello chuckled darkly, gesturing with this gun to the scarred left side of his face. "This is what happened the last time someone like you tried to _'call my bluff'_. Now are you gonna calm your ass down and let us pass through peacefully, or am I gonna hafta give _you_ one to match? I wouldn't mind another." Mello's voice was deadly, but taunting, with a very un-subtle hint of crazy.

The leader seemed to consider us for a few more moments before visibly conceding. "Fine," he spat. "Just don't get us caught in the crossfire of whatever shit you've got going with the Boss." With that, everyone stood down, and Mello led the three of us through the house. I could feel the eyes on me, practically screaming the fact that I didn't belong as if I didn't already know.

I just kept moving, and let myself be herded like the sheep I'd been compared to so many times at school. I made sure to memorize the hallways, just in case we needed a quick escape. I was so focused that I didn't even really notice we'd stopped until I bumped into Matt's back, and I found that we were all in a room.

The place made for a marvelous representation of the rest of the house. The plaster was cracked and the paint fading, with a few bullet holes, and holes that could only be have been made by one or more people punching through the wall. There were three mattresses on the floor, two twins and one queen, and they looked like they'd seen their share. All three were bare of any bedding except a few stained pillows, and each was marked with blood, what looked like alcohol, and something else that I _really_ didn't want to think about.

Mello immediately walked over to the largest bed and dropped his bag on it. Matt followed in suit, and Sawyer dropped the small duffel he carried onto one of the smaller mattresses. Seeing that no one had claimed the final twin mattress, I dropped my pack on it gently, remembering the pyrotechnics and whatnot that was stored there.

The silence that surrounded us was palpable at this point, but no one seemed to care because we were all so tired.

_Gee, who knew that sitting in a car for god knows how long could be so exhausting?_

At least Sawyer's fatigue made sense. He'd been driving for such a long time, and had only stopped once for gas. As for the rest of us…mental strain? I don't know…

We'd just laid down when Matt decided to talk. "You guys" he said seriously. "I have a confession to make. I…I lied." I looked up to see him, only to find that he was looking in a completely different direction, no game device clutched in his hands for once. I could see its outline in his pocket, though.

"About what?" Mello inquired warily. I wish I could say something cool, like '_His smirk grew to epic proportions_', but it really didn't. Any semblance of a smirk that had ever been on his face was now gone, replaced by a wholly serious expression as he sat up, giving all of us a look.

"This isn't my natural hair color."

* * *

><p>Our two day stay in the confines of this safe-house was nothing like with Mortar. There was always something for us to do with her, and she fed us regularly, bearing in mind that we couldn't go out and do it for ourselves. In all, she was like the insane, all-too-teenager-y mother. Maybe that wasn't normal for her. Perhaps she'd just been that nice because she knew Mello so well. Because Raphael, the main caretaker of this house, didn't give a rat's ass about us. He was cold and forbidding. He was just like the rest of them, except that he took care of the house's main needs, like repairing pipes and other things that would severely inhibit the house's integrity.<p>

Then there was Amelia, his girlfriend, who never wanted to see us. She was beautiful, definitely, but she always wore this ugly frown that made it impossible to even remotely _begin_ to like her. I would have tried, even without showing it, really. But to put it simply, she was a bitch-on-wheels. I won't even bother myself with trying to describe her.

But the strangest thing about the safe-house? We weren't confined to a labyrinth and some basements. We were technically allowed to do whatever the hell we wanted, a side effect of that "no-one gives a flying **** what happens to you" policy.

That didn't mean that we actually went traipsing around the house, though. Mello did, sure, but he was different. Even Matt preferred to hole up in the room on the bed he shared with Mello. Saywer would occasionally venture out into the living room to bum a cigarette off of someone, because Matt refused to share. The redhead (or newly revealed brunet, I guess), on the other hand was perfectly content to crack a window in "our" room to let the smoke escape while he burned one as he tapped away at the game that never seemed to leave his side.

Idly, I wondered what the hell kind of game he was playing that went on for _that long_. Not once had I actually seen him switch the games. And the light hum of background music was ALWAYS the same, so it was definitely the same game.

One day, I decided to ask him.

"Hm?" he grunted, taking notice of me. "Oh, yeah. Well the music is kind of a disguise, actually. Most of the time, anyways." I said nothing, waiting for him to articulate. Rather than say anything, or get up and come over to my bed, he gestured for me to come over with one finger. Curious, I obeyed. What he showed me on the screen of what I now recognized as a PSP was _nothing_ like what I expected. It was a two-by-two grid of surveillance tapes, showing the view from the living room, main hallway/stairwell, and both yards of the house. Matt smirked, seemingly sensing my admiration and surprise. "Check this out."

He tapped a combination of keys, and suddenly, I was looking at a list of files, all titled "Profile: *Insert names*". There was one on Me, Mello, Matt, Mortar, and lots of other people, including Sawyer, Lucy, and Rod Ross himself. Another combination of buttons and I was now looking at a black screen with green text scrolling down it at a pace that indicated it was being auto-decrypted by some kind of software. I blinked in surprise.

"You…You did all this?" I said quietly. "Why?"

"Because Mello asked me to." I looked down at Matt, who had a very self-satisfied grin on his face as he punched in another combination that actually turned on his game, which I now saw was some kind of fantasy game.

I blinked again, moving away from Matt to sit back on my bed. So, Matt was a technology-freak. It had to be useful, sure, but it seemed like he was wasting an awful lot of potential in his position. He could probably work for any government in the world if he wanted. Hell, he could start, carry out, and end a Cyber War between three different countries all by himself. And considering his dry sense of humor, it actually seemed like something he would do.

As I let my thoughts drift to the possibilities of Matt's talents being put to use, I fingered the small box of dice in my hand, eventually dumping the contents onto the floor. Beginning to stack them, I scowled. I never had enough space or materials to do anything entertaining, like the Lego Metropolis I'd created while L was gone. Even at home, that was the largest structure I was able to create. If I had something, say, the size of a gymnasium, then I could _really_ build. Anyone who ever mocked me for playing with toys, despite my age would owe me an apology.

I had built the stack of twelve dice up as high and precarious as it could get, when a sudden, loud noise made my hand jerk to the side, knocking it over. I frowned in distaste, looking over to Matt, who had jumped up, and was now examining his PSP closely. Somewhat curious as to what was setting off alarms, I moved to look over his shoulder. The surveillance footage was up.

I almost gasped, but my mental barriers decided to start working in the face of such a threat. It wasn't armed cronies coming to kill us, or take us hostage for whatever Crime Syndicate that Mello was being hunted by. The threat was much,_ much_ worse.

It was the cops. They police were performing a raid on the house.

* * *

><p><strong>I wonder how L will fit in to the picture now? Psh, whatever. I'm sure you all know by now. But how will the ROMANCE FACTOR come in to play? Eh, I don't know. I'm formulating as we speak...or rather, as I type. Not so much as you read, because I might have already come up with something by the time you read this.<strong>

**Whoop di flippin doo for social awkwardness. Please review.**


	13. Addiction and the Return of L

**Welcome to Chapter 13. In honor of L's return, and the fact that I've successfully posted 3 consecutive chapters in less than a month (which is pretty much a record for me), plus the famous number 13, This chapter has a word count of 4, 774 words, not including the pre-note and afternote. That pretty much means that this is the longest chapter of this story I've ever posted.**

**Once again, this chapter is dedicated to Chana-san, because she's stuck with me for so long, and been a great source of inspiration and motivation. In fact, she inspired a scene from the following chapter, which I will name at the end to avoid spoilers. I hope this pleases everyone, but especially her!**

**Disclaimer: Seriously people, I don't own it. You can try to sue me, but you won't get much, I can promise you that.**

* * *

><p>If I had been kidnapped and held against my will, I would have metaphorically rang out "Hallelujah!" at the fact that the police were so close. But that wasn't the case. Technically I'd been willing to go everywhere my cohorts had dragged me along to, and I was being targeted by a crime syndicate. I could <em>tell <em>them that, but then I would be forced to explain the entire reason _why_, which was _not_ something I wanted to do. The original circumstance aside, it was twice as humiliating to try and explain that I had grown fond of my "captors".

Sure, there had been cases like that in the past. I had worked on enough of them to know. There would often be kidnapping cases where the victim began to trust and rely on their kidnapper, sometimes even to the point where the victim would become violently defensive of the criminal. But that made it all the worse. It wasn't like Mello and/or Matt ever actually treated me like a victim. Mello always managed to at least partially convey that technically I could do whatever I wanted, as long as I didn't mind, you know, dying. When he warned me about the threat, he wasn't the one threatening me. He was letting me know that there was very real danger awaiting me if I didn't follow his rules.

Either way, my choices were as follows: I could either A) Make the police think that I was with Mello and them, and hope I didn't get thrown into prison, or B) Attempt to explain the humiliating course of events leading up to this soon-to-be arrest.

Now, imagine me weighing metaphorical weights in either hand like a scale. Up down, up down. I was moving as I considered, throwing my dice into the pack that I kept loaded at all times, just waiting to have to run. Matt was already pressing buttons on his game, and before I could ask what he was doing, he held the device up to his ear like a phone, and began talking into it.

"Mello, we've got cops." That was all that was needed, apparently, because I heard the pounding of Mello's boots against the stairs not a second later, and Matt was back on his device, probably trying to scramble their communications.

The three of us practically flew down the stairs, despite the fact that I had no idea what our plan was. If there even _was _one, that is.

Either way, we were too late. Everyone was scrambling to hide their drugs and not-so-concealed weapons (which were probably illegal anyways), which only made it harder to get out of the house. By the time we made it to a door, it was being barreled into by police officers.

"_**POLICE! GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!**_" I'm sure you can imagine how things went in the next few minutes.

Suffice it to say that when all was said and done, Mello, Matt and I were all stuffed into the back of a police cruiser with our hands cuffed behind our backs.

I can't describe very accurately how I felt, sitting there like a criminal. It was an overall humiliating experience, considering my background, but I also felt adrenalin rushing through my veins as a rogue part of my mind continued to try and formulate some kind of escape. The part of my mind that I actually had control of, though, was settling for wallowing in the huge embarrassment.

But I recognized that no matter how awful I felt, Mello was probably worse off. He'd been leading this life for how many years? Seven? And judging from the aura of absolute shame and defeat that was radiating off of him like heat off the sun, I'd say that this must've been the first time he'd ever actually been arrested. It didn't help that he couldn't even curl up and wish for death, the way he seemed to want to. There'd been a good amount of people in the house, so the few squad cars that were there had to be used to their full extent. And let me tell you something. Police cars are _not_ meant to hold three people in the backseat the way we were canned in. Even with all of us being skinny.

But Mello was sulking, and I'd never actually seen him do that before. Sure, I'd seen him brooding, or acting generally pissed off, but never _sulking_ like this. _Am I supposed to do something?_ I wondered. _Why couldn't _Matt_ be next to him instead? _Rather, I had been sandwiched in between the two older boys.

But seriously—was I supposed to console the seething blond? I had no clue! After all, I was miserable too, though admittedly not as harshly…

So…I eventually decided to awkwardly pat his arm from the funny angle I was able to reach him at. In return, he let his hand flop forward onto the gate that separated us from the officer, moving his hand to pat my leg, just above the knee. I felt strange on the inside as his hand met the fabric of my clothes, but I dismissed it as extra nerves from this damn situation. After all, things right now were hard enough without trying to think about _that_ on top of everything.

"What now?" I said casually, addressing no one in particular.

Okay, so maybe _someone._ What I mean is that I was really only intending to talk to Matt and Mello. But the female officer sitting up from in the passenger's seat took it upon herself to explain things to me. Oh, how I despise being thirteen. Almost as much as I despise looking like I'm only ten.

"Well, first, you're gonna go to the station, where you'll be detained until we can track down your guardian, and then—," I cut her off.

"Yes, I know full well how the justice system works, _ma'am_. Unfortunately, I wasn't actually talking to you." She shut up, but gave me a dirty look, one that said _"Well fuck you too, you little white bastard…"_

As you can see, I've been subjected to that look many times over the years. You learn to know it by heart, after a while.

Despite undoubtedly understanding that my statement had been intended for them, Matt and Mello both chose not to answer me. I couldn't really blame them.

_Well this sucks._

* * *

><p>It was only a few minutes to the station, but it felt like an eternity, what with the way the metal handcuffs dug into my wrists. I had never actually worn any before, and so I always assumed that suspects were always exaggerating or trying to pull guilt when they complained about the strain of the cuffs on the wrists.<p>

Never again would I underestimate their complaints.

As the officer explained to me exactly what I was being charged with (possession of illegal weapons and pyrotechnics, as well as suspicion of my being part of an illegal drug ring), I was required to empty my pockets. It was a good thing all I had was a small box of dice.

There were so many people there that we were all shuffled along in relative order, and eventually I found myself in front of a stocky man who asked for my name as he looked to a report. Glancing around, I noticed Mello standing only a few feet away.

"Name?" My officer asked. I attempted to reach up and twirl a piece of my hair, only to realize that I couldn't while my hands were bound together. So I gave a bitter scowl at nothing.

"It's Nate River," I mumbled, just loud enough to hear it. I noticed Mello paying more attention to me than his own officer, and frowned, feeling my face heat up. This was just adding insult to injury. I never went by my real name, and the backstory behind _why_, was not something I liked to think about, or explain to others like I would definitely have to now.

I spoke my typical cold monotone through the rest of the report and eventually found myself being ushered into a holding cell with a few other guys, including Matt, while Mello followed not far behind.

As soon as I was in, I found the clearest spot of ground and plopped myself right down, making sure I wasn't in the way of treading feet. Mello found his way over to me, just as I was wishing for some stacking materials to distract myself with, and before I knew it. Luckily, conversation with him would do just fine, if not better. I opened my mouth to make a comment, but he beat me to it.

"They took my rosary." He had his right arm propped up on his knee, his left leg extended in front of him as his arm was slack at his side. His hair partially covered his face, but I could still see the traces of distress in his features. "And my chocolate." I blinked.

"They took my dice," I contributed absently. "That was my favorite set." We sat in silence for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say to avoid listening to the hum of background noise that reminded us of where we were.

"So…Nate?" I mentally cringed, but I was careful to keep my face guarded. This place had so many…people.

"Please don't call me that," I requested. "I prefer Near."

"Why?" This time, I made a very slight grimace.

"Are you sure you want to know, right now? This hardly seems like a very good story-telling environment."

Mello nodded. I glanced around, making sure no one was close enough that they'd be able to listen in if I spoke quietly.

"You remember what I told you back at Mortar's house?" I asked. "I told you about my background." Mello nodded again, prompting me to continue. "Well after my parents' deaths, I didn't go immediately into Elliot's care. I was first placed in an institution for the gifted known as 'Wammy's House'. That was where I had my first encounter with my cousin, who lived there as well."

"You're a Wammy's kid?" My blood ran cold. Did that mean-?

"I take it you are, also?" I backtracked, thinking about his life as he'd described it. After his parents were killed, he'd joined his syndicate, correct? I didn't see where Wammy's House fit into that equation anywhere.

"I did my time in that hole, yeah." I didn't even have to see his face to know that he was scowling at the very mention of the place. "My parents died when I was 11, and I was in the system for two years before I got sick of it all. I got sick of that…_place_." He said 'place' as if he was talking about some horrible, disgusting thing that didn't deserve to have its noun pass his lips. I didn't fully disagree with him.

"Well, I guess that explains your addiction to chocolate and your need for your rosary." He rounded on me immediately.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his eyes wider than normal. I glanced around and saw some more eyes on us, but I ignored them. They'd get bored with our quiet conversation eventually.

"Well I've noticed something about kids who come from Wammy's House, even after a short amount of time," I began. "We tend to find things to cling to. I haven't had access to the records of the other Wammy's residents, so I can't prove this theory, but I believe that because of the trauma that people like you and I experienced at such a young age, coupled with our mental capacity creates a sense of imbalance. It makes us expect instability. But our minds need to find ways to balance out that instability, by giving us something to attach ourselves to. A…_habit_, if you will. For you, it'd be eating chocolate, and having your rosary with you constantly, perhaps to hold or even just touch. Both provide you with comfort in your life, because they are familiar objects that are always there. They are constants in an equation otherwise filled with variables. For me, I cling to my toys."

I actually looked over at him to find him frozen as he listened to me, like he was trying to absorb every word I spoke. "Have you ever noticed, Mello, that I usually only play with toys that have no need for electricity? That's because they are a constant. No matter what the circumstances, I can always rely on having a box of dice in my pocket." I sighed.

"I feel like my point in having this entire spiel was to illustrate the fact that I sympathize with your displeasure."

Mello said nothing for quite a while, and I had begun to wonder if he was planning to continue talking to me at all. I would be disappointed, were that the case. Without his conversation, I was left to fidget with my own empty hands, perhaps imagining that there was a tower of small, white cubes in front of me.

"Well, damn, Near." I looked back up at the blond. He had a worn smirk on his face, like he had lost at some kind of game that he'd been playing for a long while. "I've considered things like that millions of times, but I never thought I'd be backed by another Wammy's kid. Thanks for that." I made a "hn" noise of acknowledgement before we lapsed into another round of silence.

And then it was broken, just like the last two times. "So why are you called Near?"

I looked at him, my eyes meeting his. "Why are _you_ called Mello?"

…

"…Matt's one, too, you know." I cocked my head to the side. "A Wammy's kid, I mean." I nodded.

"I figured. The man is a genius with that device of his. I've seen it, you know." Mello looked up at the ceiling.

"I feel bad for him. That's _his_ anchor." I nodded, and yawned as the silence began to reassert itself. But I couldn't just fall asleep. Not only was that like begging to be beat up by all the random gang-thugs who were giving me dirty looks, despite the fact that Mello was right there, but I still had a phone call to make. They were calling names, now, but there didn't seem to be an order, so I had to be alert.

I was extremely tired. Let it never be said, though, that I didn't try my hardest to stay awake and attentive, but after a while, simply fell back against the wall, mustering up all my will to keep my eyes open.

"You know, you can fall asleep, Near." Mello assured from his place next to me. I shook my head violently, trying to both reject his offer and keep myself awake.

"No, I can't." I could hear the smile in Mello's voice, and feel it in the way he patted my knee.

"Yeah, you can. I'll let you know when they call your name to make your call." I frowned, and wanted to protest, but I was tired. I guess utter humiliation and giving long speeches about minor dependent tendencies can do that to a guy. Oh yeah, and then the fact that we were actually arrested. That might've had something to do with it.

So, I let my head slide sideways, landing on Mello's shoulder. He stiffened, however briefly, but relaxed after a moment.

I think he said something to me before I passed out, but I didn't hear it. I was too tired.

* * *

><p>I was shaken awake around fifteen or twenty minutes later. I almost took a few moments, but as I realized that I was sitting on hard concrete, I jolted up.<p>

"Hey, calm down, Near," came Mello's voice from beside me. He clutched my shoulders and stood me up, patting my shoulder with his hand as he began to direct me towards the door to the cell, where an officer was waiting. I gave a nod, but my stomach was tight.

It hadn't really sunk in before, but I was feeling the full effect now, even if I didn't show it. I was going to have to talk to L. _My cousin, L. The world's__** greatest detective**_. I was going to have to explain to him how I was _arrested. _I told him I was okay, I told him that I was with friends, and now…_this_.

I let out a sigh, expressing only about 1 one-hundredth of the nerves I was feeling. Only when I was actually standing in front of the phone, my left hand held out to press the buttons on the number pad as my right hand held the phone in my hand did I actually hesitate.

_Oh well,_ I thought. _He's going to have to find out sooner or later. May as well be sooner._

So I dialed.

"Hello?"

"Elliot?" I said, just barely keeping my voice from trembling. "It's Near. I need you to send someone to come and get me. I've…I've been arrested."

There was silence on the other end, and I gathered that he was probably tracing the location of the call.

"Near, what's going on?" he sounded stunned. "How have you managed to get yourself arrested?" Under the astonishment, I could tell he was disappointed.

But he asked me a question, and I found myself explaining everything since we arrived in San Francisco, like the words were pouring out of my mouth of their own volition. I was kind of glad that my logic had decided to take over, because there was no way that I'd be able to function under this new stress. As it was, I was already losing control.

My emotions should have shut down, locked in a black box and stowed away in the recesses of my mind, to lay dormant until my mind decided I could handle them again. But this time, it was different. It was like all the horrible, sick feelings of shame and guilt were in a clear Plexiglas box that was clasped shut, and all of them were whirling around like a tornado trying to escape. And the box was sitting right at the forefront of my mind, making it hard to think.

"…and now we're at the police station. Could you please send someone for us?" Yes, _us_. I had gotten into this mess with Mello, Matt, and Sawyer, and I was going to get out of it with them.

L seemed to consider my words before finally sighing, having reached a decision.

"Very well. How many are there?" That came as a little bit of a relief, but not much. I was still in a world of trouble, because, come on, this was _L_ for god's sake.

We ended the phone call shortly after, and I was escorted back to the holding cell. I moved pretty much on autopilot, and I had a pain in my jaw that I always associated with the urge to cry. Swallowing, I forced back any tears that might have had the nerve to try to well up in my eyes.

Matt had joined Mello on the floor, and I walked over to them sullenly, crouching down next to Mello, my hair flopped down to cover my eyes.

"Hey Near, you okay?" Matt questioned. I made no move to respond. I was too busy trying to keep that damned box closed.

It was practically taunting me. _Come on, Nate._ It jeered. _Break down. Shatter into a thousand pieces in front of all these __**people**__. Show them what you've got going on inside. __**Cry! Cry! Cry!**_

_No. I won't._ I was shaking now with the effort. I felt my face burning, and I realized that my breath was getting shorter. I gritted my teeth, blinking furiously. I felt a hand brush my hair away from my face, and I jerked away. "…Near…?" That was Mello.

"I called him," I said. "He's going to send someone for us. He…" I cut myself off, feeling my throat closing painfully. A squeezed my eyes shut, and put my hands over my head, closing my fists around my hair. _I'm not gonna do it…stay in control, Near, stay in control! Stay. In. __**Control, DAMMIT!**_

A hand was put on my wrist, and I twisted my arm to get away, reversing our positions so that I was the one gripping the arm of whoever was trying to touch me. I squeezed it, _hard_.

"Near!" Mello's voice was soft, yet urgent, and I realized that I had a hold on his arm so tightly that my knuckles were turning white. Despite my very obvious lack of physical strength, I would bet that it probably still hurt. I didn't want to let go, though. I had no toys at the moment. I had to cling to something. Mello was the closest thing, both in physical reach and in my mind. Mello had been my constant for the last few weeks. I would wake up and he would be there. I would go to sleep knowing that he was there. And no matter where I was at any moment during the day, _he was there_, or at least close by enough that I knew he was still _there_.

Mello was my new…addiction. He would do just as well as any dice or cards, or other toys. Maybe even better.

I felt another hand placed on my back, and I didn't fight away from the touch like I probably would have for anyone else. In fact, I actually kind of leaned into the touch.

And you know what?

I didn't cry.

* * *

><p>I had had an ample amount of time to collect my bearings and get my emotions back under control before we were called on to be released. But even after I had calmed down, I hadn't let go of Mello's wrist. Why? See above. Just before the linebreak.<p>

When our names were called, I realized that Mello and Matt had recorded themselves as each other, adding the last name "Ruvie", a name I recognized from Wammy's house. The caretaker's name was Roger Ruvie. I smirked a little bit upon remembering that, but quickly regained my façade of indifference.

As we neared the front of the station where we would be released, I felt my mask begin to slip yet again at the thought of seeing someone who knew that I was associated with _L_ being escorted in handcuffs out of jail.

_Oh god,_ I thought, the knot in my stomach twisting violently._ Please let it not be Watari_. I would absolutely _die_ if it was Watari. He was among the two people I respected most in the entire world, and I didn't think I could bear to see his face, looking at me with disappointment as I was led around in chains. I would rather be shot in the face.

I set my jaw as we got closer and closer to the door that separated the front desk from the holding cells.

But as soon as I saw who _was_ waiting for us standing out in front of the main desk, signing papers and whatnot, I froze, wishing now more than ever that the ground would just swallow me up. Because L hadn't sent _Watari_.

_L had come to get me __**himself**_**.**

* * *

><p>I was stuck in a state of shock for the rest of the time however short, that we were inside the police station. My face was fully red, and I was sure I was trembling. It was the scene from the cell all over again, only this time it was about <em>a thousand times worse<em>, because _**L**_ was sitting _**right there**_, glancing at me every now and again with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. Every time he looked at me, I felt another part of my soul get torn off and shrivel up.

Mello, Matt, Sawyer, and I were all seated on plastic chairs just a few feet away from the main desk, where L was still sitting. All of us had been un-handcuffed, and our possessions returned to us. They didn't give back the pack I'd been carrying though, doubtlessly because it contained an illegal firearm and, you know, _dynamite_. But they had returned my dice to me. So there I sat, shaking them around in my hand as I tried my best to avoid looking at my cousin. Mello sat next to me, shoving chocolate into his mouth like a dying man, and Matt was next to him, playing his game yet again. Unsurprisingly, the police had failed to find anything suspicious about the PSP, despite the fact that he probably had a "Blow Up the World" application hidden away somewhere on there.

Sawyer simply sat silently next to Matt, occasionally muttering about how he was _so screwed_ and couldn't afford to be in the system.

I didn't know what the rest of them were thinking about, but I found myself trapped in a jumble of questions and thoughts that were practically smothering me. What if L hated me for this? What if he sent me back to Wammy's? Worse, what if he put me back in the system, but didn't let me return to Wammy's, and I was forced into a regular orphanage? Even worse than that, what if he decided that I wasn't worth it and just put me out on the street?

The logical side of my brain was trying to reason out the fact that he would never just turn me out on the street, as well as the fact that him completely disowning me wasn't very likely at all. And once I explained, he'd understand that I'd just been caught up in all of this…chaos.

But then, what if he sent Mello and Matt to prison? What if he absolutely forbade me from seeing them again? What if he managed to come up with false evidence that framed them for murder and had them executed?

Okay, so that was a little farfetched. But the possibilities were endless! And I was too put out to even consider each of them, like I normally would.

"You alright, Near?" Mello piped up from next to me. After a moment of hesitation, I shook my head.

"Actually, no," I responded verbally. "I'm not." My voice quieted to just barely above a whisper, so low that only he and I could hear it. "What if he hates me for this?"

Mello didn't answer immediately. I'd begun to wonder if he'd answer at all, when he picked up my hand and set it gently on his own wrist, seemingly having read my thoughts. I squeezed his arm half-heartedly, taking that gesture as my answer. Mello seemed to have guessed the conclusion I'd reached earlier, because that one act of kindness translated to: "It won't matter, because _I'm your constant_."

I felt my heart slow, even if only by half a beat.

"Near." I stiffened, looking up to the voice of my cousin. He simply looked at me, and I stood up to follow him without a word. He, in return, said nothing to me as well.

L led us to a car, which I recognized as a rented SUV from a dealer not too far from our apartment. When I saw Watari, _Quillish Wammy_, standing by the door, waiting to drive the car, I felt the knife that was lodged in my chest turn around 360 degrees. He was expressionless, but his indifferent vibe told me all I needed to know.

I didn't stop, even when I heard Mello and Matt's footsteps cease behind me. They'd probably caught sight of the familiar face of the founder of Wammy's house, and were now incredibly confused. Both seemed to realize, though, that we were also in the presence of an outsider, Sawyer, so they kept their mouths shut and continued walking after only missing a couple of beats.

The car had three rows, so Mello and Co. were seated in the back, while L and I were in the middle, separated by the center seat. Watari was alone in the front while he drove in silence. The air between us all was so heavy for a while that I could practically feel it on my skin.

It was both surprising and unsurprising when L was the first to break the silence.

"So, Near," he said at last. "Are you going to introduce me to your friends?"

* * *

><p><strong>So...? What'd everyone think? Please review and let me know!<strong>

**The section that was inspired by Chana-san was the part where they talk about how the Wammy's kids all find a "constant" to cling to. It comes from her story "Field of White", a fantastic MelloNear story that can be found in my favorites list, as can Chana (Shayla080310), under my favorite Authors. I really recommend it, along with her other works!**

**Personally, this was my favorite chapter of this story, because I had to force myself to feel the emotions that I wanted Near to feel, and I had to try and describe exactly what it was. Not only that, but there was some relationship development between he and Mello, and L returned!**

**Anyways, drop me a line and let me know what you think! Bye for now!**


End file.
